THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE  NEW  LAND 


STORIES  OF  JEWS  WHO  HAD  A  PART 
IN  THE  MAKING  OF  OUR  COUNTRY 


BY 

ELMA  EHRLICH  LEVINGER 


"A  new  world,  with  great  portals  far  outflung, 
Holding  a  hope  more  sweet  than  time  had  sung, 
To  which  the  Jew,  of  life's  high  quest  a  part, 
A  pilgrim  came,  the  Torah  in  his  heart. 
A  land  of  promise,  and  fulfillment  too  ; 
Where  on  a  sudden  olden  dreams  came  true.  .  .  . 
Here  grew  we  part  of  an  ennobled  state, 
Gave  and  won  honor,  sat  among  the  great, 
And  saw  unfolding  to  our  'raptured  view 
The  day  long  prayed  for  by  the  patient  Jew." 

From  "  The  Jew  in  America,"  by  Felix  N.  Gerson 


NEW  YORK 

BLOCH  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

"THE  JEWISH  BOOK  CONCERN" 
1920 


Copyright,  1920,  by 
BLOCH    PUBLISHING   COMPANY 


PS 


TO 

and 


THESE    STORIES  THAT  REALLY  HAPPENED 
ARE  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED 


tuft 

LIBRARf 


A  LETTER  TO  MY  READERS. 

Dear  Boys  and  Girls: 

When  your  grandfather  tells  you  a  story,  do  you 
ever  interrupt  him  to  ask :  "But  is  it  all  true?"  And 
doesn't  he  often  answer:  "I  don't  know,"  or  "I 
don't  know  when  it's  really  true,  and  when  it  begins 
to  be  like  a  story  book."  And  so,  when  you  read 
through  my  little  book — if  you  do  read  right  through 
it  to  the  very  last  page — you  may  wonder  whether 
all  my  history  stories  really  happened. 

Yes — and  no!  I  do  know  that  cross  old  Peter 
Stuyvesant  of  New  Amsterdam  hated  our  people, 
but  I  never  found  any  record  of  the  Jewish  boy  who 
wanted  to  play  with  the  governor's  niece,  pretty 
Katrina.  The  histories  tell  us  how  gallant  young 
Franks  became  the  friend  of  George  Washington, 
but  none  of  them  mention  that  the  Jewish  soldier 
saved  a  Tory  from  the  angry  mob. 

You  understand  now,  don't  you?  So  I'm  going 
to  turn  the  page  right  away  that  you  may  read  for 
yourselves  of  the  three  Jews  who  whispered  together 
on  the  deck  of  the  "Santa  Maria,"  as  Columbus  and 
his  crew  crossed  the  Sea  of  Darkness  in  search  of 
a  New  Land. 

E.  E.  L. 


NOTE:  The  author  expresses  her  thanks  to  the  editors  of 
The  Hebrew  Standard  and  The  Jewish  Child  in  which  the 
stories,  "In  the  Night  Watches"  and  "A  Place  of  Refuge,"  orig 
inally  appeared. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

IN  THE  NIGHT  WATCHES 

The  Three  who  came  with  Columbus. 

WHEN  KATRINA  LOST  HER  WAY          .      14 

A   tale  of  the  First  Jewish  Settlers  of  New 
Amsterdam. 

A  PLACE  OF  REFUGE 33 

How  the  Wanderer  came  to  Rhode  Island. 

"DOWN  WITH   KING   GEORGE"          .        .      39 

How  Isaac  Franks,  of  the  American  army,  first 
heard  the  Declaration  of  Independence. 

THE  LAST  SERVICE 52 

The  story  of  a, Rabbi  who  lived  in  New  York 
when  it  was  captured  by  the  British  in  1776. 

THE  GENEROUS  GIVER        ....      68 

The  story  of  a  Jewish  money-lender  of  the 
Revolution. 

ACROSS  THE  WATERS          ....      88 
A   story   of  the  City   of  Refuge  planned  by 
Mordecai  Noah. 

THREE  AT  GRACE 105 

The  story  of  the  first  Jewish  settler  in  Alabama. 

THE  LUCKY  STONE 122 

The  adventures  of   Uriah  P.  Levy,  the  first 
naval  officer  of  his  day. 

THE  PRINCESS  OF  PHILADELPHIA        .     140 
The  story  of  Rebecca  Gratz  and  Washington 
Irving. 

A  PRESENT  FOR  MR.  LINCOLN        .        .     160 

How  President  Lincoln  set  out  for  Washington 
and  how  he  returned. 

THE  LAND  COLUMBUS  FOUND    .   -  173 

The  story  of  the  tablet  placed  upon  the  Statue 
of  Liberty  in  New  York  Harbor. 
7 


THE   NEW   LAND 


IN  THE  NIGHT  WATCHES 

The  Three  Who  Came  With  Columbus 

For  a  while  there  was  no  sound  save  the  soft 
swish-swish  of  the  waves  as  the  "Santa  Maria,"  the 
flagship  of  Columbus,  ploughed  its  way  through  the 
darkness.  The  moon  had  long  since  disappeared  and 
one  by  one  the  stars  had  left  the  sky  until  only  the 
morning  star  remained  to  guide  Alonzo  de  la  Calle, 
crouching  above  his  pilot  wheel.  The  man's  eyes 
ached  for  sleep,  his  fingers  were  numb  from  damp 
ness  and  fatigue,  his  heart  heavy  with  despair. 
"Dawn,"  he  muttered  at  last,  "almost  the  last  of  the 
night  watches;  Gonzalo  will  take  my  place  at  the 
wheel  and  I  can  sleep." 

In  the  shifting  light  of  the  ship's  lantern,  swing 
ing  from  the  mast  above  his  head,  the  pilot  saw 
Bernal,  the  ship's  doctor,  advancing  toward  him; 
a  little  dark  man,  who  dragged  one  foot  as  he 
walked.  He  would  have  passed  without  speaking; 
but  Alonzo,  hungry  for  companionship,  caught  his 
arm. 

"You  are  in  high  favor  with  Columbus,"  he  began, 
"and  he  confides  in  you.  Tell  me,  is  he  still  de- 

9 


10  THE  NEW  LAND 

termined  to  go  on  if  the  next  few  days  do  not  bring 
us  to  land?" 

The  ship's  doctor  nodded  almost  sullenly,  yet  there 
was  pride  in  his  voice  when  he  spoke.  "The  ad 
miral  will  not  turn  back.  Not  though  the  very 
boards  of  our  three  vessels  mutiny  and  refuse  him 
obedience.  He  will  go  on!" 

"It  is  madness.  It  is  already  seventy  days  since 
we  left  our  fair  land  of  Spain,  and " 

Bernal  interrupted  him  with  a  mocking  laugh. 
"  'Our  fair  land  of  Spain',"  he  sneered,  "is  not  the 
land  of  the  Jew  nor  have  we  found  it  fair."  But 
before  he  could  speak  further,  the  other  clapped  a 
warning  hand  over  his  mouth. 

"Hush!"  exclaimed  the  little  pilot,  "Hush!  We 
may  be  overheard,  and,  though  our  admiral  is  gentle 
to  the  sons  of  Israel,  it  might  fare  ill  with  us  if  the 
crew  were  to  learn  that  there  were  'secret  Jews'  on 

board.  See,  some  one  is  coming .  Be  silent," 

and  he  pointed  to  one  who  moved  slowly  toward 
them. 

But  Bernal  laughed.  "It  is  only  Luis  de  Torres, 
the  interpreter,  one  of  our  own  people.  Shalom 
Aleicha,"  he  addressed  himself  to  the  newcomer, 
who  answered,  "Aleichem  Shalom,"  but  softly, 
glancing  over  his  shoulder  as  he  did  so. 

"Even  in  the  midst  of  the  Sea  of  Darkness  you 
fear  to  use  our  holy  tongue,"  taunted  the  physician. 
"We  are  no  longer  in  Spain  where  the  very  walls 
of  our  houses  had  ears  to  hear  our  Shema  and 
tongues  to  betray  us  to  the  officers  of  the  Inquisition 
when  we  failed  to  come  to  their  cursed  masses."  His 


IN  THE  NIGHT  WATCHES  11 

face  twisted  with  rage  as  he  pointed  to  his  useless 
foot.  "In  Valencia  I  was  denounced  to  the  Inqui 
sition,  tortured  almost  unto  death.  But  I  escaped 
with  my  life;  and  now  instead  of  spending  my  last 
days  in  peace  in  the  land  of  my  fathers  I  have  come 
on  this  mad  voyage  across  a  sea  without  shore." 
He  laughed  harshly.  "Yet  even  on  these  endless 
waves,  I  am  safer  than  in  the  pleasant  land  of 
Spain." 

Luis  de  Torres,  who  had  stood  leaning  over  the 
vessel's  side,  turned  toward  the  speaker,  his  sensi 
tive  face  showing  pale  and  grave  in  the  light  of  the 
swaying  lantern.  "Ah,  Bernal,"  he  said  sadly,  "has 
not  the  whole  world  become  a  great  sea  of  endless 
waves  for  the  unhappy  children  of  Israel?"  He 
shuddered  slightly  and  drew  his  rich  cloak  more 
tightly  about  him.  "I  am  a  strong  man;  but  I  sicken 
and  grow  faint  when  I  think  of  the  tens  of  thousands 
of  our  brethren  we  saw  scourged  from  the  land  of 
Spain  even  as  we  embarked  and  our  three  vessels 
were  about  to  leave  the  port." 

"Truly,"  Alonzo  muttered,  "truly,  even  a  strong 
man  may  wish  to  forget  what  our  eyes  have  seen. 
Night  after  night  as  I  stand  at  my  wheel  I  can  see 
them,  old  men  and  little  children  and  women  with 
their  babes.  Where  will  they  find  rest?" 

"There  is  no  rest  for  Israel."  It  was  Bernal  who 
spoke  in  his  sullen  passion.  '  'Twas  the  ninth  of 
Ab  when  our  brethren  were  driven  forth — the  ninth 
of  Ab;  the  day  on  which  our  Temple  fell.  Then 
we  were  scattered  beneath  the  sky,  but  we  thought 
at  last  that  in  the  land  of  Spain  we  had  found  a 


12  THE  NEW  LAND 

refuge.  But  there  is  no  refuge  for  Israel,  no  rest 
for  Him  until  death." 

The  sad  eyes  of  Luis  de  Torres  glowed  with  a 
strange  light.  "Nay,  friend,"  he  corrected  gently, 
"the  God  of  Israel  will  not  forget  His  children 
forever.  Who  knows  that  this  new  route  to  India, 
of  which  the  admiral  dreams,  may  not  lead  us  to 
a  new  land,  an  undiscovered  place  where  no  Jew 
will  suffer  for  his  faith.  But,  O  God!"  he  cried 
with  sudden  pain,  "We  have  waited  so  long,  and 
still  our  people  wander  and  are  tossed  to  and  fro, 
as  we  are  tossed  about  by  the  waves  of  this  unknown 
sea.  Must  each  century  bring  its  new  Tisha  B'ab, 
must  we  indeed  suffer  forever?  Where  is  rest  for 
us?  What  land  will  give  us  refuge?" 

He  raised  his  face  to  the  brightening  sky,  his 
hands  tearing  at  the  gold  chain  about  his  throat. 
No  one  spoke  for  a  moment,  nor  even  moved  until 
Alonzo  turned  back  to  his  wheel,  his  eyes  bright 
with  strange  tears.  A  cry  burst  from  him;  a  cry 
of  unbelieving  joy. 

"Land!  Land!"  and  he  pointed  a  trembling 
finger  toward  the  misty  outlines  of  palm  trees, 
straight  and  slender  beneath  the  early  morning  sky. 
Bernal  echoed  his  cry  with  a  great  shout  and  in  a 
moment,  from  every  part  of  the  ship,  men  came 
pouring,  wide-eyed  and  unbelieving  that  they  had 
crossed  the  Sea  of  Darkness  at  last.  In  their  midst 
came  a  quiet  man;  a  tall  man  with  iron-gray  hair 
and  a  firm  mouth,  who  at  first  spoke  no  word,  only 
gazed  dumbly  at  the  fulfillment  of  his  dreams, 
stretching  before  him  in  the  silvery  light. 


13 

"We  have  reached  India,"  said  Columbus  at  last. 

Those  about  him  laughed  shrilly  in  their  joy  or 
wept  or  prayed.  Alonzo,  his  eyes  snapping  with 
excitement,  wrenched  his  wheel  with  hands  no  longer 
tired,  and  Bernal,  the  sneer  for  once  absent  from 
his  lips,  gazed  with  tense  face  toward  the  palm 
trees. 

Only  Luis  de  Torres  stood  apart,  his  face  still 
convulsed  from  his  passionate  outburst  of  grief  for 
his  people.  For,  like  the  others,  he  could  not  know 
that  instead  of  a  new  route  to  India  a  mighty  con 
tinent  had  been  discovered;  nor  did  the  unhappy 
dreamer  dream  that  a  very  land  of  refuge  and  of 
hope  for  the  wandering  sons  of  Israel,  lay  before 
him  across  the  smiling  waters. 


WHEN  KATRINA  LOST  HER  WAY 

A  Tale  of  the  First  Jewish  Settlers  of 
New  Amsterdam. 

The  warm  spring  sunshine  forced  its  way  through 
the  tiny  diamond-shaped  window  panes  to  fall  in  a 
bright  pool  of  light  upon  the  table  cloth  and  blue 
cups  and  bowls  Mary  Barsimon  had  brought  with 
her  from  Holland.  It  was  a  pleasant  room,  shin 
ing  with  the  exquisite  neatness  that  characterized 
the  dwelling  of  every  Dutch  housewife  in  New  Ams 
terdam  with  the  same  simple,  well-made  furniture 
and  bright  hand-woven  rugs.  Yet  it  differed  strik 
ingly  in  two  or  three  details  from  the  other  homes 
in  the  Dutch  settlement;  on  the  mantle-piece,  above 
the  blue-tiled  fire-place,  stood  two  brass  candle-sticks 
for  the  Sabbath,  while  on  the  eastern  wall  hung 
a  quaint  wood-cut  representing  scenes  from  the  Bible; 
Abraham  sacrificing  Isaac,  Jacob  dreaming  of  the 
ladder  reaching  up  to  heaven.  This  Mizrach,  Sam 
uel's  father  had  once  told  him,  hung  upon  the  east 
ern  wall  of  every  good  Jewish  home,  that  at  prayer 
all  might  be  reminded  to  turn  toward  the  east  and 
face  the  site  of  the  Temple  at  Jerusalem.  For  cen 
turies  the  Temple  had  been  in  ruins  and  the  children 
of  those  who  had  worshipped  there  scattered  to  the 
four  corners  of  the  earth.  Jacob  Barsimon  him 
self  had  wandered  from  Spain  to  Holland,  from 
Amsterdam  to  Jamaica,  from  Jamaica  to  the  Dutch 

14 


WHEN  KATRINA  LOST  HER  WAY         15 

colony  of  New  Amsterdam  upon  the  Atlantic;  yet 
in  all  his  wanderings  he  had  brought  with  him  the 
old  Mizrach;  and  he  still  taught  his  twelve-year-old 
son  to  pray  with  his  face  toward  the  land  of  his 
fathers. 

It  was  before  this  Mizrach  that  Jacob  Barsimon 
stood  one  early  spring  morning  in  the  year  1655, 
when  New  Amsterdam  was  still  free  from  the  rule 
of  the  English  who  were  to  re-name  the  colony  New 
York.  He  stared  at  it  with  unseeing  eyes,  frowning 
darkly,  his  long,  slender  hands  plucking  nervously 
at  the  buttons  of  his  coat.  Samuel,  assisting  the 
young  colored  slave  girl  in  removing  the  breakfast 
dishes,  glanced  at  his  father  from  time  to  time  a 
little  nervously,  although  he  could  not  recall  any 
prank  or  misdeed  on  his  part  that  might  have  an 
gered  him.  But  his  mother,  after  watching  her  hus 
band  for  a  few  moments  from  her  low  chair  at 
the  window  where  she  sat  dressing  the  chubby  two- 
year-old  Rebecca,  broke  the  heavy  silence  by  ask 
ing: 

"What  is  wrong,  Jacob?     What  troubles  you?" 

For  a  moment  Jacob  Barsimon  said  nothing,  but 
frowned  more  darkly  than  ever.  At  last  he  spoke. 
"Have  you  forgotten  that  a  month  from  tomorrow  is 
Samuel's  birthday — that  he  will  be  thirteen?" 

A  tender  smile  played  about  the  mother's  mouth. 
"Surely,  I  remember  the  day  he  was  born  as  well  as 
though  it  were  yesterday."  She  sighed  a  little,  her 
hands  busy  with  the  buttons  of  the  little  girl's  dress, 
her  eyes  gazing  dreamily  through  the  window.  "We 
were  still  in  Amsterdam,  in  dear  old  Holland,  with 


16  THE  NEW  LAND 

our  own  people.  Do  you  remember,  Jacob,  how 
on  the  day  when  he  was  made  a  'Son  of  the  Coven 
ant,'  your  old  uncle  acted  as  godfather  and  all  of  our 
neighbors " 

Jacob  Barsimon  interrupted  her  with  a  bitter 
laugh.  "Neighbors!  Yes,  we  had  neighbors  then, 
our  own  people,  who  were  with  us  in  joy  and  sor 
row.  But  here,  Jacob  Aboaf  and  I  are  merely 
tolerated  by  the  burghers.  True,  they  allowed  us 
to  land  when  we  came  from  Jamaica  on  the  'Pear 
Tree.'  They  have  allowed  me  to  trade  with  the 
Indies — as  well  they  might,  for  even  Peter  Stuy- 
vesant  himself  dare  not  say  that  we  two  Hebrews 
have  ever  been  guilty  of  dishonesty  in  our  trading 
ventures.  But  we  are  not  at  home  here  as  we  were 
in  Holland  or  Jamaica;  we  are  aliens  and  strangers 
and  now  comes  this  last  insult  to  our  people — to  re 
fuse  them  the  right  of  residence  here." 

Frau  Barsimon  nodded  gravely.  "Yes,  I  know 
well  why  your  heart  is  so  bitter  with  disappointment 
when  you  think  that  it  is  almost  time  for  our  Sam 
uel's  barmitzvah  and  that  save  our  neighbor,  Jacob 
Aboaf,  there  may  be  none  of  our  own  people  here 
to  help  us  rejoice  when  Samuel  becomes  a  'Son  of 
the  Law.'  And  yet,"  she  spoke  cheerily  enough, 
rocking  the  rosy  baby  upon  her  knee,  "and  yet,  who 
knows  but  that  by  next  Shabbath  our  Jewish  friends 
will  be  granted  the  right  of  settling  here?  And  if 
they  are  still  here  when  Samuel's  birthday  comes," 
she  nodded  brightly  to  the  wondering  boy  who  had 
remained  near  the  table,  drinking  in  every  word, 
"you  will  have  a  minyan  (ten  men  required  for  a 


WHEN  KATRINA  LOST  HER  WAY         17 

Jewish  ceremony)  to  hear  you  recite  your  barmitz- 
vah  speech  and  eat  the  feast  I  shall  prepare  for 
them."  She  sprang  up  suddenly,  the  baby  tucked 
under  one  arm  as  she  began  to  pile  dishes  with  her 
free  hand,  scolding  the  slave  girl  as  energetically  as 
she  worked  for  not  having  the  table  cleared.  For 
if  Frau  Barsimon  ever  allowed  herself  the  luxury 
of  a  moment's  rest  or  gossip,  she  never  failed  to 
regain  lost  time  by  working  twice  as  hard — and 
noisily — as  soon  as  she  took  hold  again. 

"Father,"  asked  Samuel,  forgetting  the  cakes  and 
ale  of  his  barmitzvah  party  for  a  moment,  "just 
why  won't  they  let  the  Jews  who  came  from  South 
America  last  fall  live  in  New  Amsterdam  like  the 
rest  of  us  ?  In  Holland  the  Dutch  were  always  kind 
to  our  people  and  in  the  Indies  they  allowed  you  to 
trade  in  peace." 

Barsimon  did  not  answer  until  the  slow-handed, 
sharp-eared  little  slave  girl  had  followed  his  wife 
into  the  kitchen.  When  he  spoke  his  voice  was 
tinged  with  a  harsh  bitterness.  "Wiser  men  than 
you  have  asked  that  question,  my  boy,  and  no  one 
has  yet  found  an  answer.  True,  Holland  and  those 
lands  ruled  by  the  Dutch  have  been  places  of  refuge 
for  us.  No  wonder  that  the  poor  souls  who  left 
Brazil  in  the  'St.  Catarina'  hoped  to  receive  honor 
able  treatment  here  at  the  hands  of  the  burghers. 
It  may  be  that  they  fear  the  rivalry  of  our  brethren 
in  trade,  if  more  of  us  be  allowed  to  take  up  resi 
dence  in  New  Amsterdam.  And  perhaps,"  he  spoke 
with  a  sort  of  grudging  honesty,  "perhaps,  one  can 
scarcely  blame  the  worthy  burghers  for  mistrusting 


18  THE  NEW  LAND 

the  newcomers  and  refusing  to  grant  them  welcome. 
They  were  unfortunate  enough  to  have  been  robbed 
at  Jamaica  where  they  rested  on  their  journey;  when 
they  reached  here  there  was  the  disgrace  of  an 
auction  in  which  their  goods  were  sold  to  pay  for 
their  passage,  and  two  of  the  passengers,  David 
Israel  and  Moses  Ambrosius,  were  held  for  security. 
You  remember  how  a  law  suit  was  brought  against 
them  by  Jacques  de  la  Motthe,  master  of  the  ves 
sel,  for  this  same  passage  money;  and  although  the 
matter  is  now  settled,  some  of  our  honest  citizens 
are  not  ready  to  welcome  strangers  who  they  be 
lieve  are  little  better  than  vagabonds  and  paupers." 

"But,  father,"  protested  the  boy,  "a  goodly  num 
ber  out  of  the  twenty-seven  who  came  on  the  'St. 
Catarina'  last  autumn  have  received  gold  from  their 
brethren  in  Holland.  All  except  the  very  poorest 
one.  And  I  heard  mother  telling  Frau  Aboaf  that 
you  could  ill  afford  giving  all  you  did  to  help  the 
poor  widow  on  board  the  'St.  Catarina'  and " 

"Jacob  Aboaf  and  I  have  done  but  little," — half- 
growled  Barsimon,  as  though  ashamed  of  the  char 
ity  he  was  always  ready  to  do  by  stealth.  "And 
they  were  our  brethren."  He  became  silent  again, 
striding  to  the  window  and  scowling  out  into  the 
bright  spring  sunshine.  At  last:  "But  perhaps  we 
have  managed  to  serve  them  with  our  pens  as  well 
as  gold.  Jacob  Aboaf  and  I,  with  a  few  of  our 
good  Dutch  townsmen,  have  written  to  the  directors 
of  the  Dutch  West  India  Company  in  Amsterdam, 
praying  that  these  Jews,  now  forbidden  lodging  here, 
be  allowed  the  rights  and  privileges  of  all  good 


WHEN  KATRINA  LOST  HER  WAY         19 

citizens.  The  directors  should  listen  to  our  plea, 
for  a  large  amount  of  the  company's  capital  comes 
from  Jewish  purses.  We  might  have  heard  favor 
ably  from  them  long  ago  had  it  not  been  for  the 
stubborn  hatred  of  Governor  Stuyvesant,  whose  let 
ters  have  poisoned  their  minds  against  us." 

"But  we  have  never  harmed  Governor  Stuyves 
ant,"  observed  Samuel,  "so  why  should  his  hand 
be  against  us?" 

Jacob  Barsimon  laughed  grimly,  lowering  his  voice 
as  he  answered,  for  he  was  a  cautious  man  and 
did  not  care  to  risk  having  his  words  carried  through 
the  town  by  the  little  slave  girl  Minna,  now  clat 
tering  the  breakfast  dishes  as  she  moved  about  the 
kitchen.  "Does  Peter  Stuyvesant  ever  need  a  reason 
for  his  follies?"  he  asked  dryly.  "His  head  is  as 
hard  as  his  wooden  leg  and  never  a  new  idea  has 
pierced  his  brain  since  the  day  he  was  born.  He 
hates  our  people  with  as  much  reason  as  our  black 
Minna  fears  witches  and  the  evil  eye.  It  is  said  that 
he  has  written  to  the  directors  at  Amsterdam,  beg 
ging  that  none  of  the  Jewish  nation  be  permitted  to 
infest  New  Netherlands.  He  has  used  those  very 
words  in  public  places ;  infest  the  colony  and  be  like 
a  plague  of  hungry  locusts.  Perhaps  he  really  be 
lieves  the  evil  things  he  says  of  our  brethren.  Even 
eyes  as  shrewd  as  his  may  be  blinded  by  hate.  And 
one  can  understand  his  bitterness,  his  hardness  of 
heart  toward  all  mankind.  His  post  here  is  not 
easy,  harrassed  by  the  savages  on  our  borders,  the 
Swedes,  even  the  English,  who  have  already  cast 
covetous  eyes  upon  this  rich  port.  While  his  pri- 


20  THE  NEW  LAND 

vate  life — "  the  man's  stern  face  grew  rather  ten 
der — "has  not  been  very  happy.  It  is  said  that  he 
left  a  half-sister  in  Holland,  the  one  creature  he 
ever  loved  or  who  knew  his  kindlier  side.  A  few 
months  ago  her  husband  died  and  she  dared  the  voy 
age  with  her  little  daughter  that  they  might  make 
their  home  with  the  governor.  But  the  vessel  was 
lost  at  sea  and  she  was  drowned.  Only  a  sailor  or 
two  and  several  passengers  survived  and  one  of 
them  brought  the  little  girl  to  Peter  Stuyvesant." 

"I  heard  Minna  tell  of  her,"  interrupted  Samuel. 
"She  says  that  once  she  helped  the  governor's  cook 
carry  the  Sunday  dinner  home  from  market  and  she 
saw  little  Katrina  playing  on  the  great  stairway  of 
Peter  Stuyvesant's  house.  Minna  says  she  has  long 
golden  curls  and  her  eyes  are  blue — blue  as  the  lit 
tle  flowers  that  grow  near  the  Wall  every  spring.  I 
wonder  we  never  see  her,  father!" 

Barsimon  sat  down  on  the  low  settle  beside  the 
window  and  lighted  his  long  pipe,  puffing  thought 
fully  and  gazing  into  the  smoke  as  he  spoke.  "I 
would  not  have  you  repeat  this,  son,  for  it  may  be 
but  idle  gossip.  But  it  is  reported  that  since  her 
mother's  death  the  child  has  become  the  idol  of  the 
governor's  hard,  old  heart.  He  is  filled  with  fool 
ish  fears  that  he  may  lose  her  as  cruelly  as  he  lost 
her  mother  before  her.  He  scarcely  ever  permits 
her  to  stir  abroad  and  then  only  when  she  is  fol 
lowed  by  one  of  his  faithful  black  slaves."  He 
arose  with  his  characteristic  abruptness,  and  walking 
to  the  chest  of  drawers  across  from  the  fire-place, 
changed  his  black  silken  skull  cap  to  the  broad- 


WHEN  KATRINA  LOST  HER  WAY         21 

brimmed  hat  of  his  Dutch  neighbors.  "Forget  what 
I  have  said,"  he  told  his  son,  briefly.  "We  live 
here  only  on  sufferance  and  must  guard  our  tongues. 
But  you  are  a  good  lad  and  I  know  I  need  never 
regret  having  confided  in  you.  And  now  study  your 
barmitzvah  portion.  Even  if  the  folk  from  the 
'St.  Catarina'  are  deported  before  your  birthday  and 
there  is  no  minyan  here  and  we  can  have  no  real 
feast  in  your  honor,  I  would  have  you  do  your  sainted 
grandfather  credit  and  please  your  mother  who  has 
waited  so  long  for  the  day  when  you  should  be  old 
enough  to  be  considered  a  man  among  our  people." 
For  a  moment  his  hand  lay  kindly  upon  the  boy's 
shoulder;  then,  with  a  shrug  as  though  to  shake 
off  any  foolish  tenderness  for  the  son  he  loved  so 
dearly,  he  passed  out  of  the  house. 

Samuel  watched  him  from  the  window  until  his 
stolid,  heavy-set  figure  disappeared  down  the  wind 
ing  road.  Then,  finding  his  portion  in  the  Hebrew 
book  which  his  father  treasured  so  highly  in  those 
days  when  printed  Hebrew  books  were  still  a  rarity, 
he  sank  down  on  the  settle  and  tried  to  concentrate 
on  the  task  which  his  father  had  left  for  him.  But 
more  than  once  his  dark  eyes  glanced  from  the  heavy 
Hebrew  characters  to  the  pleasant  scene  that  lay 
beyond  the  window;  a  scene  one  would  never  asso 
ciate  with  crowded,  bustling  New  York  of  our  own 
day;  the  low,  comfortable  looking  houses  of  the 
Dutch  burghers,  nestling  under  the  great  trees;  the 
well-scoured  windows  blinking  like  so  many  sleepy 
eyes  in  the  warm  spring  sunshine.  It  was  a  day  for 
dreaming  and  adventure,  not  for  study. 


22  THE  NEW  LAND 

For  a  little  while  the  boy  sat  with  his  head  resting 
upon  the  low  window  sill,  his  young  mind  busy  with 
half-formed  fancies,  most  of  them  circling  about 
his  talk  with  his  father  concerning  the  unhappy  pas 
sengers  of  the  'St.  Catarina.'  Would  the  unfortu 
nates  be  obliged  to  seek  shelter  elsewhere,  or  would 
they  be  allowed  to  dwell  in  New  Amsterdam?  If 
so,  perhaps  in  time  other  Jewish  families  might  come, 
bringing  with  them  boys  of  his  own  age,  among  whom 
he  might  find  a  real  playfellow.  He  sighed  a  little 
wistfully  at  the  thought,  for  he  had  no  close  friends 
among  the  sturdy  young  Dutch  lads  of  the  neigh 
borhood.  Even  a  girl  would  be  better  than  no  one, 
he  thought;  not  a  mere  baby  like  his  little  sister, 
but  a  girl  old  enough  to  play  with  him,  to  visit  the 
Indians  dwelling  a  little  beyond  the  Wall,  to  wan 
der  with  him  to  the  other  end  of  the  settlement  and 
stand  upon  the  sea  shore,  searching  for  shells  or 
lying  upon  the  shining  sands  and  weaving  fantastic 
dream  stories,  too  foolish  for  older  and  wiser  folks 
to  hear. 

The  boy  fell  to  dreaming  now,  sitting  there  in  the 
warm  sunshine,  for  he  was  a  quiet,  thoughtful  lad, 
unaccustomed  to  playing  with  youths  of  his  own  age, 
given  to  day-dreams  and  fairy  legends.  Today,  as 
he  half  reclined  on  the  settle  near  the  window,  his 
busy  young  brain  painted  a  picture  so  strange  that 
even  Samuel  himself  had  to  smile  over  it;  for  as  he 
gazed  through  the  window  with  half-closed  lids,  the 
dusty  road  and  little  Dutch  houses  faded  away  and 
he  seemed  to  see  a  shining,  white  street  with  tall 
buildings  on  either  side,  and  many,  many  people — 


WHEN  KATRINA  LOST  HER  WAY         23 

more  than  he  had  ever  seen  in  his  life,  even  in  Ams 
terdam  across  the  seas — hurrying  to  and  fro.  He 
had  heard  his  father  say,  nodding  gravely  over  his 
pipe,  that  some  day  little  New  Amsterdam  would 
be  one  of  the  greatest  sea  ports  in  the  world.  Jacob 
Aboaf  had  hooted  at  his  friend's  prophecy;  but  as 
he  recalled  it  today,  Samuel  did  not  laugh.  His 
day  dream  was  very  real  to  him,  and  when  his  mother 
came  into  the  room  she  found  him  staring  through 
the  window  with  a  strange  smile  about  his  mouth. 

Frau  Barsimon  was  a  busy  woman,  with  no  time 
for  day-dreams  and  she  was  often  annoyed  (and 
secretly  alarmed)  at  her  son's  tendency  to  wander 
off  into  a  world  of  his  own  making.  Now  she 
shook  him,  but  gently,  and  spoke  with  her  usual 
briskness. 

"Samuel,  Samuel,  have  you  nothing  better  to  do 
than  sit  nodding  like  an  old  spinning  woman  in  the 
sunshine?" 

The  boy  started  guiltily,  indicating  his  open  book 
with  a  shame-faced  laugh.  "Father  told  me  to  study 
— barmitzvah,"  he  faltered. 

His  mother  shrugged  goodnaturedly.  Pious  Jew 
ess  that  she  was,  she  was  often  inclined  to  quarrel 
with  her  husband  who,  she  declared,  was  too  fond 
of  keeping  the  boy  tied  to  his  Hebrew  lessons.  "He 
needs  a  strong  body  now,"  she  used  to  say  when 
demanding  an  extra  play-hour  for  Samuel.  "When 
he  is  older  and  his  head  is  less  stuffed  with  dream- 
ing  it  will  be  time  enough  to  cram  it  with  your  learn 
ing.  But  first  let  him  play  out  in  the  open  air  until 
he  is  tired  and  the  fresh  wind  has  blown  all  his  non- 


24  THE  NEW  LAND 

sense  away."  She  was  thinking  the  same  heresy  that 
moment,  but  all  she  did  was  to  smile  goodhumoredly 
and  pull  the  boy  to  his  feet.  "Out  of  doors  with 
you,"  she  commanded,  gayly,  "and  I  will  speak  to 
father.  Take  a  walk — a  long  one,  and  when  you 
come  back  you  will  be  able  to  study  without  falling 
half-asleep  over  your  book." 

Samuel  needed  no  urging.  A  moment  later  he 
had  kissed  his  mother  good-bye,  helped  himself  to 
a  handful  of  sugar  cookies  from  her  blue  crockery 
jar,  and  was  whistling  down  the  dusty  road,  feeling 
strangely  anxious  for  some  adventures;  adventures 
as  heroic  as  his  father  often  related  before  the  fire 
on  winter  evenings.  His  mother  might  have  thrown 
up  her  hands  in  despair  had  she  seen  the  dreamy 
look  in  his  large  eyes.  True,  fie  was  no  longer  drows 
ing  on  the  settle,  but  as  he  swung  along  under  the  soft 
spring  sky,  he  saw  himself  the  hero  of  a  hundred  fan 
tastic  tales — the  captain  of  a  trading-vessel  bound  for 
the  Indies;  the  commander  of  a  company  of  daring 
youths  of  his  own  age,  all  ready  to  resist  the  In 
dians  when  they  should  seek  to  fall  upon  New  Ams 
terdam;  again,  a  pirate  with  a  plumed  hat  and  a 
flashing  sword.  So,  lost  in  dreaming,  he  wandered 
on  down  the  quiet  streets  to  the  Wall  which  marked 
the  boundary  of  the  Settlement. 

Suddenly  realizing  that  he  was  tired  and  hungry, 
Samuel  threw  himself  upon  the  grass,  and  taking  his 
cookies  from  his  pocket,  began  to  munch  them  con- 
tendedly,  wondering  just  what  heroic  deed  he  should 
plan  for  his  next  undertaking.  But  in  the  middle  of 
a  bite  he  stopped  short,  sitting  up  suddenly  and 


WHEN  KATRINA  LOST  HER  WAY         25 

rubbing  his  eyes  as  though  he  had  been  asleep  and 
feared  he  was  still  dreaming. 

There  on  the  grass  beside  him  sat  a  little  girl, 
almost  his  own  age  he  judged;  a  little  girl  with  gold 
en  hair  and  eyes  as  blue  as  the  flowers  growing  in 
the  young  grass  about  them.  To  the  simple  lad 
she  seemed  as  richly  dressed  as  a  fairy  princess,  for 
her  frock  was  of  flowered  silk,  she  wore  silver  buck 
les  upon  her  little  shoes,  and  her  daintily  flounced 
cap  was  fastened  at  either  ear  with  a  quaint  medal 
lion  of  beaten  gold.  Samuel  took  in  all  of  these  de 
tails  slowly,  half  afraid  to  speak  lest  he  should  drive 
away  the  delicate  little  creature,  who  had  risen  from 
the  grass  and  now  stood  poised  for  flight  like  a  gaily 
tinted  butterfly.  Then  she  spoke,  and  he  knew  there 
was  very  little  of  the  fairy  about  her  and  that  she 
was  almost  as  human  as  himself. 

"Boy,"  she  said  in  unmistakable  Dutch,  pointing 
to  the  half-eaten  cake  in  his  hand,  "boy,  give  me 
that.  I  am  hungry."  She  spoke  like  one  accustomed 
to  instant  obedience,  taking  the  cake  without  a  word 
of  thanks  and  eating  it  prettily,  her  large  blue  eyes 
never  leaving  Samuel's  wondering  face.  When  noth 
ing  remained,  she  again  held  out  her  hand,  with 
her  pretty,  imperious  gesture.  "More,"  said  the  lit 
tle  lady,  and  Samuel  gave  her  his  last  cooky,  wish 
ing  heartily  that  he  had  brought  his  mother's 
blue  crockery  jar  along  for  the  little  lady's  pleas 
ure. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said  humbly,  "but  I  ate  the  oth 
ers  before  I  knew  you  were  coming.  They  are  good, 
aren't  they?  Does  your  mother  ever  bake  sugar 


26  THE  NEW  LAND 

cakes?"  he  ended  in  a  desperate  attempt  to  make 
conversation. 

She  shook  her  blond  head.  "My  mother  is  dead," 
she  told  him.  "She  was  drowned  and  I  would  have 
been  drowned,  too,  but  a  brave  sailor  held  me  tight 
until  he  found  a  spar  and  he  tied  me  to  it  and  we 
floated  and  floated  and  floated  until  a  big  ship  passed 
us  and  brought  us  here."  She  spoke  between  bites, 
very  cahnly,  as  though  her  tale,  as  thrilling  as  any 
of  Samuel's  dream  adventures,  was  no  uncommon 
story  for  a  dainty  little  maid  to  tell  on  a  spring  morn 
ing. 

"Now  I  know  who  you  are,"  Samuel  exclaimed, 
forgetting  his  shyness  in  his  delighted  surprise. 
"Your  name  is  Katrina  and  you  live  with  the  gov 
ernor  and  your  mother  was  lost  at  sea." 

Katrina,  having  finished  her  cooky,  pensively 
picked  up  the  few  crumbs  from  her  lap  as  though  she 
were  still  hungry.  "I  live  with  Uncle  Peter,"  she 
corrected.  "He  is  very  good  to  me  and  gives  me 
pretty  presents; — he  gave  me  these  on  my  birth 
day,"  and  she  touched  the  gold  medallions  upon  her 
ears  complacently.  "Only  he  never  lets  me  go  out 
and  play  alone  like  the  other  little  girls  who  some 
times  visit  me  say  they  do,  and  I  get  tired  of  stay 
ing  in  the  garden.  And  when  I  go  out  walking 
with  old  black  Daniel  behind  me,  it  is  just  as  hard  as 
staying  at  home.  I  want  little  girls  and  boys  to 
play  with  and  take  me  places; — I  get  tired  of  my 
dolls,"  she  ended  wistfully. 

Samuel  nodded  with  understanding  sympathy.  To 
have  this  little  stranger  maid  listen  to  his  stories 


WHEN  KATRINA  LOST  HER  WAY         27 

or  follow  him  on  his  lonely  rambles!  If  he  might 
even  go  to  play  with  her  sometimes  in  the  garden 
behind  Peter  Stuyvesant's  house.  He  frowned  at  the 
thought :  it  was  not  hard  to  picture  the  old  governor 
falling  into  one  of  his  rages  at  the  insolence  of  the 
Jewish  boy  who  dared  to  walk  down  the  garden 
path.  And  yet  what  fun  they  would  have  had  with 
every  bush  a  mysterious  fairy  castle,  every  tree  a 
pirate  ship  to  take  them  across  the  Main.  He  sighed 
regretfully,  turning  to  listen  to  his  companion's  bright 
chatter. 

"I  suppose  they're  looking  all  over  for  me,"  she 
laughed  mischievously,  "cook  and  black  Daniel  and 
Uncle  Peter,  too.  Won't  he  be  cross!  He  was  so 
cross  this  morning  when  he  got  a  letter  from  Hol 
land,  a  big  letter  with  a  big  red  seal,  and  he'll  be 
crosser  yet  when  I'm  not  home  for  dinner."  She 
tossed  her  sunny  curls  defiantly.  "But  he  won't  dare 
to  scold  me;  he'll  scold  everybody  else  and  shake 
his  cane  at  them,  but  he  won't  dare  to  be  cross  to 
me." 

"But  I  think  you  ought  to  go  home,"  suggested 
Samuel.  "It  isn't  right  to  worry  your  uncle  so 
when  he  is  so  good  to  you  and  gives  you  such  nice 
presents." 

She  made  a  roguish  little  face.  "I  can't  go  home," 
she  giggled,  teasingly,  "I've  never  been  out  alone  and 
I  lost  my  way  almost  as  soon  as  I  left  the  garden. 
So  I'll  just  have  to  stay  here  all  day  until  somebody 
from  home  comes  and  finds  me."  She  sprang  up, 
shaking  out  her  silken  skirts,  dancing  gayly  in  her  lit 
tle  buckled  shoes.  "Come,  boy,"  she  commanded  im- 


28  THE  NEW  LAND 

periously,  "Come  and  play  with  me."  She  fumbled 
in  the  pocket  of  her  black  satin  apron  and  drew  out 
a  tiny  worsted  ball.  "Let's  play  ball,"  she  cried, 
"and  then  we'll  run  races  and  climb  that  tree  over 
there  and  maybe  you  can  tell  me  stories  when  I'm 
tired.  My  old  nurse  in  Holland  used  to  tell  me  brave 
tales,  but  I  don't  like  those  black  Daniel  tells — all 
about  charms  and  goblins.  Do  you  know  any  nice 
stories,  boy?" 

"Yes,  a  few,"  admitted  Samuel  modestly.  His 
cheeks,  usually  so  pale,  were  flushed  with  excitement; 
the  little  playfellow  of  his  dreams  seemed  to  have 
come  to  life  in  the  flower-strewn  meadow.  He  caught 
the  bright  ball  she  tossed  to  him  and  laughed  with 
pleasure.  "You  catch  wrongly,"  he  chided  her,  "but 
I  like  to  play  with  you." 

The  afternoon  sped  on  golden  wings.  Perhaps 
neither  of  the  children  would  have  dreamed  of  the 
lateness  of  the  hour  had  not  Katrina  interrupted 
Samuel  in  the  middle  of  one  of  his  glowing  tales,  ex 
claiming,  "I'm  hungry,  now.  I  wonder  what  cook 
has  for  supper?" 

Samuel  started.  The  story  of  the  old  sea  captain 
he  had  been  telling  his  new  friend  was  very  real  to 
him;  he  could  almost  see  the  old,  ancient,  weather- 
beaten  vessel,  hear  the  waves  beating  on  the  shores 
of  that  distant  island  where  the  golden  treasure  lay 
hidden  for  so  many  years.  Now  his  dream  people 
faded  away  and  he  saw  that  the  sun  was  setting  and 
felt  the  air  growing  chill  and  damp  about  them.  He 
rose  a  little  wearily  and  helped  Katrina  to  her  feet. 

"We  must  go  home,"  he  said,  gravely.     "Perhaps 


WHEN  KATRINA  LOST  HER  WAY         29 

we  did  wrong  to  stay  so  long,  but  it  was  fun  to 
play  together,  wasn't  it?  And  did  you  like  my 
stories?" 

She  nodded,  bending  to  pick  up  the  bouquet  he 
had  gathered  for  her  earlier  in  the  afternoon.  "I 
like  them  as  well  as  the  tales  my  nursie  used  to  tell," 
she  commented,  approvingly.  "You'll  show  me  the 
way  home,  won't  you?" 

Hand  in  hand,  they  walked  slowly  back  to  the 
dusty  street  that  led  to  the  governor's  house.  At 
the  gate,  Samuel  was  about  to  bid  his  little  friend 
good-bye,  but  she  caught  his  hand  and  drew  him  in 
after  her.  "Oh,  you  must  stay,"  she  protested,  "you 
must  stay  and  let  Uncle  Peter  thank  you  for  bring 
ing  me  home.  And  I  want  you  to  tell  me  another 
story  after  supper.  You  must  come  in !" 

"But  my  mother  will  be  worried,"  declared  Sam 
uel,  "and  father " 

"We'll  have  Daniel  go  and  tell  them  you  are 
here,"  she  solved  the  problem  easily.  Then  she 
ran  up  the  broad  stairs,  crying  gaily,  "Oh,  Uncle, 
I've  had  the  loveliest  time,"  as  a  short,  stern-faced 
man  appeared  in  the  doorway;  a  man  with  a  silver- 
banded  wooden  leg  and  leaning  on  a  heavy  cane. 

"Katrina!"  he  exclaimed  with  some  sternness,  but 
she  pulled  his  hard  face  down  to  her's  for  a  kiss. 

"I've  had  such  a  lovely  time,"  she  cooed,  "and 
this  nice  boy  found  me  and  brought  me  home.  Thank 
him,  Uncle  Peter,  and  have  him  come  in  and  tell 
me  some  more  stories." 

Samuel  drew  back;  but  the  governor  nodded  for 
him  to  enter,  and,  feeling  miserably  shy  and  uncer- 


30  THE  NEW  LAND 

tain  of  himself,  he  followed  the  pair  into  the  house. 
The  room  they  entered  was  richly  furnished,  but 
gloomy.  Samuel,  boy  that  he  was,  felt  how  much 
lovelier  his  mother's  simple  living  room  was  with 
its  shining  brass  and  the  few  plants  blooming  at  the 
window.  The  governor  sat  down  behind  a  long  table 
littered  with  papers  and  drew  Katrina  to  his  knee, 
at  the  same  time  motioning  Samuel  to  be  seated. 
Then  he  spoke,  stroking  the  child's  golden  curls,  his 
keen  eyes  growing  gentle  as  they  rested  upon  her 
pretty  face. 

"You  have  been  of  service  to  my  little  girl  and 
I  will  do  my  best  to  reward  you,"  said  Governor  Stuy- 
vesant,  kindly.  "What  will  it  be,  my  lad,  a  velvet 
suit  brought  over  in  the  last  cargo  from  Holland, 
or  a  golden  chain?"  Suddenly  the  eyes  he  turned 
upon  Samuel  grew  cold  and  keen  again.  "You  are 
not  one  of  us,  yet  I  have  seen  you  before.  Who  is 
your  father  and  what  is  his  trade?" 

"I  am  Samuel,  the  son  of  Jacob  Barsimon,"  an 
swered  Samuel,  and  suddenly  all  his  shyness  left  him 
and  he  gazed  fearlessly  into  the  governor's  face. 
"And  my  father  is  an  honest  merchant  of  New  Ams 
terdam." 

"Yes — and  of  the  tribe  of  Israel,"  muttered  the 
old  man,  his  brow  darkening.  "I  wish  my  little 
one  might  have  been  indebted  to  another  this  day; 
but  I  am  as  honest  a  man  as  your  father  and  what  I 
promise,  I  keep.  So  name  what  reward  you  will 
for  the  favor  you  have  rendered  me — and  be  off." 

Samuel  rose,  his  face  flushing  with  anger  at  the 
man's  insolence,  yet  glowing  with  a  hope  he  hardly 


WHEN  KATRINA  LOST  HER  WAY         31 

dared  to  utter  even  to  himself.  For  the  time  had 
come,  he  believed,  when  he  might  play  the  hero,  as 
he  had  done  so  many  times  before  in  his  dreams. 
"I  want  no  reward,"  he  answered  quietly,  "but  if 
you  would  render  me  favor  for  favor,  I  would  ask 
you  to  withdraw  the  restriction  you  have  placed  upon 
my  brethren — those  Jews  who  sought  these  shores 
on  the  'St.  Catarina'  and  who  desire  to  make  their 
homes  here." 

The  governor  smiled  grimly.  "A  true  Jew,"  he 
muttered,  with  a  sort  of  grudging  admiration  for 
the  boy's  boldness,  "ever  ready  with  his  bargain! 
But  I  have  no  longer  the  power  to  grant  you  or  re 
fuse  you  your  request."  He  picked  up  from  the 
table  a  long,  bulky  envelope,  from  which  dangled  a 
red  seal.  "This  came  this  morning  from  Holland. 
Tomorrow  I  must  tell  the  burghers  that  the  gentle 
men  of  the  Board  of  Directors  of  the  Dutch  West 
India  Company  have  over-ridden  my  suggestions; 
they  write  that  I  must  admit  these  Jews,  provided 
that  the  poor  among  them  shall  not  become  a  burden 
to  our  community,  as  they  at  first  seemed  likely  to 
be,  but  be  supported  by  their  own  nation."  Again 
his  grim  smile.  "No  fear  of  that,  when  even  a  boy 
like  you  thinks  of  his  people  before  gifts  for  him 
self.  I  wish,"  he  half  mused,  "I  wish  that  we  had 
at  least  that  virtue  of  your  stiff-necked  race." 

Little  Katrina,  grown  weary  of  all  this,  slipped 
from  her  uncle's  knees  and  took  Samuel's  hand  in 
her's.  "Come  into  the  garden,"  she  commanded,  "I 
want  you  to  see  my  rose  bushes  and  my  new  kit 
tens  and  the  swing,  before  supper." 


32  THE  NEW  LAND 

Samuel's  eyes  sought  the  governors  face,  half- 
he  told  her,  gently. 

Her  eager  face  clouded.  "Then  you  will  come 
and  play  with  me  tomorrow?"  she  asked. 

Samuel's  eyes  sought  the  governor's  face,  half- 
defiantly,  half-wistfully.  "When  your  uncle  sends 
for  me,  I  will  come,"  he  said,  and,  bowing  in  a 
manner  that  would  have  delighted  his  careful  mother, 
he  left  the  room.  Katrina  was  about  to  follow  him, 
but  her  uncle  called  her  back  rather  sternly. 

"Nay,  do  not  pout,  my  pretty,"  he  told  her,  "for 
I  will  try  to  find  you  a  worthier  playfellow  than  the 
son  of  a  Jew  trader." 

Samuel  walked  home  slowly  through  the  April  twi 
light.  In  the  harbor  he  could  see  the  dim  outlines 
of  the  'St.  Catarina,'  which  had  in  truth  brought  the 
Jewish  wanderers  to  a  home  in  New  Amsterdam. 
But  Samuel  was  not  thinking  of  the  wanderers  who, 
after  their  months  of  weary  waiting,  could  look 
toward  the  future  with  hopeful  eyes;  nor  did  he  feel 
relieved  that,  since  they  were  not  to  be  deported,  the 
newcomers  would  surely  come  to  his  barmitzvah 
party.  At  that  moment  he  thought  only  of  the 
golden-curled  fairy  princess  who  would  never  romp 
and  play  with  him  again. 


A  PLACE  OF  REFUGE 

How  the  Wanderer  Came  to  Rhode  Island 

It  was  bitter  cold.  The  icy  wind  howling  through 
the  forest  caught  up  the  snow  and  whirled  it  in 
great  eddies  against  the  trees.  Reuben  Mendoza, 
staggering  through  the  blinding  snowflakes,  hugged 
his  little  son  Benjamin  closer  to  his  heart,  and  prayed 
desperately  that  the  storm  might  cease  or  that  he 
might  soon  come  to  a  place  of  refuge.  His  own 
limbs  were  aching  with  fatigue  and  cold.  He  had 
eaten  nothing  since  early  morning  and  was  faint  with 
hunger.  Wearied  and  heartsick,  he  would  have  been 
glad  to  lie  down  upon  the  ground,  to  sink  into  sleep, 
perhaps  a  painless  death,  with  the  snow  drifting 
above  him ;  but  he  knew  that  he  must  struggle  on  for 
the  sake  of  the  child  he  was  warming  in  his  bosom. 

Suddenly  Benjamin,  half  asleep  and  numb  with 
the  cold,  stirred  a  little  and  complained  drowsily 
that  he  was  hungry.  His  father  paused  for  a  mo 
ment  and  pressed  his  lean,  bearded  face  against  the 
child's  rosy  cheeks.  "Be  patient,  little  one,"  he 
comforted  him,  "for  soon  we  shall  find  a  lodging 
for  the  night.  Surely,  no  one  would  turn  even  a 
Jew  away  in  a  storm  like  this." 

Again  he  plodded  on,  footsore  and  discouraged. 
The  wind  lashed  him  like  a  whip,  and,  when  he 
raised  his  head,  the  snow  cut  across  his  forehead  like 
stripes  of  fire.  His  lips  moving  almost  mechanically 

33 


34  THE  NEW  LAND 

in  prayer,  Reuben  faltered  through  the  storm,  until 
at  last  utterly  exhausted  he  stumbled  to  the  ground. 
He  tried  to  gain  his  feet  again,  for  he  thought  he 
saw  a  light  glimmering  through  the  trees;  but  he 
was  too  tired  to  go  farther.  Why  should  he  try  to 
reach  that  light,  he  asked  himself,  as  he  dreamily 
stretched  his  tired  limbs  in  the  snow.  But  he  felt 
little  Benjamin  moving  beneath  his  cloak,  and  with 
one  last  effort  he  crawled  through  the  drifts,  cling 
ing  to  the  trees  as  he  moved.  A  few  moments  later 
he  found  himself  before  a  little  shack.  A  single  tal 
low  candle  shone  through  the  window  and  cast  a 
path  of  light  before  his  weary  feet.  Reuben  lurched 
forward  against  the  door;  it  opened  beneath  his 
weight  and  he  fell  within  the  hut.  He  had  a  dim 
vision  of  two  men  bending  over  him;  some  one  was 
taking  little  Benjamin  from  his  arms;  then  the  warm 
darkness  wrapped  him  about  like  a  cloak,  and  he  knew 
nothing  more. 


When  Reuben  opened  his  eyes,  he  found  that  he 
was  resting  upon  a  couch  of  skins  in  one  corner  of 
the  hut.  It  was  a  poor  place;  the  walls  were  bare, 
and  through  their  chinks  snows  drifted  upon  the 
frozen  earthen  floor.  Beside  the  pallet  there  was 
no  furniture  in  the  room  save  a  roughly  hewn  table 
and  several  chairs.  Near  the  table  sat  two  men, 
the  one  dressed  in  rich  garments,  a  sword  at  his 
side;  the  other  clothed  in  dull  gray,  with  a  broad 
white  collar  and  a  plain  beaver  hat.  This  man  held 


A  PLACE  OF  REFUGE  35 

little  Benjamin  on  his  knee  and  stroked  his  dark  curls 
as  the  child  drank  greedily  from  the  steaming  cup 
which  the  kind-eyed  stranger  held  to  his  lips. 

Reuben  sat  up  among  the  skins  and  noticed  in  sur 
prise  that  his  hosts  had  removed  his  wet  garments 
and  replaced  them  with  a  long,  warm  cloak  of  bear 
skin.  What  manner  of  men  were  these,  he  asked 
himself,  who  treated  a  Jewish  wanderer  so  kindly? 
As  he  advanced  timidly  toward  the  table,  the  man 
in  gray  turned  to  him  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"Shalom,"  he  said  smiling. 

Reuben  took  his  hand,  astonished  to  hear  the 
tongue  of  his  fathers  in  the  wilderness  of  the  Amer 
ican  forests.  "Shalom  aleichem,"  he  faltered.  "But 
you  are  not  a  Jew." 

The  other  shook  his  head  and  answered  him  in 
English,  a  language  Reuben  had  learned  from  the 
trading  Englishmen  and  adventurers  he  had  met 
while  in  South  America.  "No,  but  I  am  a  minister 
and  have  studied  the  Hebrew  tongue.  And  I  love 
its  greeting  of  'Peace.'  Would  that  my  people  were 
lovers  of  peace,  even  as  your's  have  been  for  so 
long." 

Benjamin  ran  to  his  father.  "Father,"  he  cried, 
"the  good  gentleman  gave  me  warm  milk  to  drink 
and  bread  to  eat  and  this  fine  cloak  to  wear,"  and 
he  proudly  smoothed  the  robe  wrapped  about  his 
chilled  limbs. 

The  man  in  gray  motioned  Reuben  to  sit  beside  the 
table  and  placed  food  and  drink  before  him.  Half- 
famished,  Reuben  ate  and  drank,  almost  fearing 
that  it  would  disappear  as  a  feast  sometimes  does 


36  THE  NEW  LAND 

in  a  dream.  For  surely  he  was  dreaming:  when  in 
all  his  wretched  wandering  life,  had  people  not  of 
his  own  religion  given  him  food  and  shelter  and  re 
ceived  him  with  gentle  words? 

His  host  sat  upon  the  couch,  holding  Benjamin 
upon  his  knee.  Now  and  then  he  spoke  to  the  dark, 
haughty  man  who  sat  watching  everything  lazily  from 
beneath  his  half-closed  lids.  Twice  he  asked  Reuben 
whether  he  desired  more  food  or  drink.  At  last 
when  the  guest  had  satisfied  his  hunger,  the  host 
asked  him  from  what  place  he  had  come  and  to 
what  spot  he  meant  to  journey  when  the  storm  was 
over. 

"I  know  not,"  answered  the  Jew.  "My  father's 
family  was  driven  from  Spain.  They  fled  to  Brazil, 
and  later  settled  in  Cayenne,  where  among  our 
brethren  from  Holland  we  found  a  resting  place 
until  the  French  destroyed  our  homes  and  drove  us 
forth  to  be  wanderers  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 
When  this  child's  mother  died,  I  longed  to  go  to  a 
far  country  where  I  might  forget  my  grief  a  little 
and  begin  life  anew.  So  I  took  my  son  and  came 
here  with  other  voyagers  to  your  colony  of  New 
Amsterdam.  But  there  they  gave  me  no  welcome, 
because  I  was  a  Jew; — even  in  this  new.country  some 
there  are  who  hate  the  children  of  Jacob."  He 
leaned  forward,  his  thin  face  alight  with  a  wistful 
hope.  "But  there  they  told  me  of  a  new  colony  in  the 
far  wilderness, — a  colony  where  men  of  every  race, 
of  every  creed,  were  welcome.  Far  off  in  the  swamps 
and  forests,  they  said,  a  man  named  Roger  Williams 
had  established  a  refuge  for  all  those  who  were 


A  PLACE  OF  REFUGE  37 

persecuted  and  despised,  and  had  proclaimed  that  no 
man  would  be  troubled  there  for  the  sake  of  his  re 
ligion,  that  each  inhabitant  might  worship  the  God 
of  his  fathers  in  peace.  So  I  took  my  staff  again 
and  my  burden  upon  my  back  and  my  little  child 
within  my  arms,  and  set  out  for  this  place  where 
my  son  might  grow  up  a  free  man,  and  not  be  called 
upon  to  forsake  the  faith  for  which  we  suffered  in 
Spain." 

The  man  in  the  velvet  coat  leaned  across  the  table 
and  spoke  to  Reuben  in  Spanish.  "I,  too,  came  from 
Spain,"  he  said,  "and  I,  too,  came  as  a  refugee;  yea, 
with  a  price  upon  my  head,  for  I  had  been  denounced 
to  the  officers  of  the  Inquisition  and  was  doomed  to 
die.  Yet  I  am  a  good  Catholic  and  loyal,  and  did 
not  deserve  their  hatred.  Those  who  are  not  of 
my  faith  in  this  new  land  mistrust  and  despise  me; 
but  here,  in  the  colony  of  Rhode  Island,  I  may  fol 
low  the  religion  of  my  fathers,  and  Roger  Williams 
has  given  me  his  hand  in  brotherhood." 

The  quiet  man  rose  and  again  held  out  his  hand 
to  the  Jewish  wanderer.  "And  now  I  give  my  hand 
to  you,"  he  said,  heartily.  "My  colony  of  Rhode 
Island  has  need  of  men  strong  enough  to  die — yes, 
and  to  live — for  the  faith  they  will  be  allowed  to 
follow  here  in  peace  and  in  safety." 

But  Reuben  had  caught  his  hand  and  pressed  it 
to  his  heart.  "You  are  Roger  Williams,  the  friend 
of  the  oppressed,"  he  said  brokenly. 

"Yes,"  answered  Williams,  "and  this  day  have 
you  found  a  refuge  with  me  and  my  people.  "A 
look  of  solemn  hope  lighted  his  gentle  eyes.  "  'Tis 


38  THE  NEW  LAND 

but  a  lonely  spot  in  the  wilderness,  and  we  are  few 
in  number;  but  some  day  this  wide  land  will  be  a 
refuge  to  the  oppressed  of  every  nation,  and  all  those 
who  are  persecuted  and  despised  will  find  a  home 
within  its  borders." 

Little  by  little,  the  winds  outside  ceased  to  drive 
the  snow  against  the  trees;  the  branches  no  longer 
tossed  and  creaked  in  the  gale;  a  great  white  hush 
seemed  to  bless  the  quiet  earth.  The  Spaniard  who 
had  walked  to  the  window  blew  out  the  taper  and 
pointed  toward  the  rosy  clouds.  "Dawn  is  break 
ing,"  he  said  softly,  and,  bowing  reverently  above 
his  rosary,  began  to  tell  the  beads  as  he  recited  his 
morning  prayer.  Williams  took  a  large  Bible  from 
the  shelf  above  the  couch,  opened  it,  and,  having 
read  his  morning  psalm,  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands  as  he  knelt  beside  his  chair  to  pray.  With  a 
great  joy  warming  his  heart,  Reuben,  no  longer  a 
wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  put  his  arm  about 
his  son,  and  drew  him  to  the  window  that  he  might 
look  upon  the  land  that  his  children's  children  and 
those  who  came  after  them  were  to  inherit  as  their 
home.  Th'en  he  drew  his  faded,  tattered  talith 
(shawl  worn  in  prayer)  from  his  pack,  put  it  about 
his  shoulders,  and,  facing  the  glowing  east,  the  home 
land  of  his  fathers,  he  praised  the  God  of  Israel  who 
had  brought  him  to  this  place  of  refuge.  "Ma  tobu 
oholekha"  ("How  goodly  are  thy  tents"),  prayed 
Reuben,  and  he  sobbed  like  a  child. 


"DOWN  WITH  KING  GEORGE!" 

How  Isaac  Franks,   of  the  American   Army,   first 
heard  the  Declaration  of  Independence. 

The  news  had  spread  like  wild-fire  that  day  in  early 
July,  1776.  Although  there  was  not  one  of  the 
American  recruits  stationed  in  New  York  under  Gen 
eral  Washington's  command  who  had  not  heard 
something  of  the  great  happenings  in  Philadelphia 
a  few  days  before,  every  soldier  felt  his  heart  beat 
faster  under  his  buff  and  blue  coat  at  the  thought 
that  he,  too,  would  hear  the  Declaration  of  Inde 
pendence  read  before  the  army.  They  stood  waiting 
in  their  ranks,  the  first  army  of  the  Republic:  raw 
fanners  like  those  who  fell  at  Lexington,  bronzed 
backwoodsmen  whose  rifles  had  brought  more  than 
one  lurking  red-skin  or  savage  forest  beast  to  earth, 
with  here  and  there  a  student,  fresh  from  his  books, 
or  a  merchant  who  had  left  his  desk  to  fight  for  his 
country.  And  today  they  were  to  hear,  stated  sim 
ply  and  eloquently  for  all  time,  for  what  principles 
they  fought. 

In  the  ranks  stood  a  slender,  dark-browed  boy  of 
about  seventeen.  The  muster  roll  gave  his  name  as 
Isaac  Franks,  the  simple  record  holding  no  promise 
of  the  day  when  the  Jewish  boy,  a  distinguished 
veteran  of  the  Revolution,  should  entertain  President 
Washington  as  his  guest.  Today  young  Franks  stood 
undistinguished  among  the  other  eager  patriots  and 

39 


40  THE  NEW  LAND 

the  future  president  was  only  the  leader  of  an  army 
of  untrained  "rebels",  knowing  full  well  that  a  trai 
tor's  death  awaited  him  if  his  campaign  against  the 
British  proved  unsuccessful. 

"I  wish  the  general  would  come  that  we  might  hear 
the  document  and  be  dismissed,"  remarked  Franks 
to  the  soldier  who  stood  at  his  side;  a  tall,  raw-boned 
youth  about  his  own  age.  "This  hot  sun  is  enough 
to  melt  granite  and  we  have  been  assembled  for 
almost  two  hours." 

The  other,  also  wearied  and  over-heated,  looked 
him  over  with  a  sneer.  "A  fine  soldier  with  your 
complaints!"  was  his  jeering  comment.  "I  wonder 
to  see  a  Jew  in  our  ranks,  but  you'll  not  cumber  us 
long,  I'm  thinking.  You  Jews  are  fit  only  for  trad 
ing  and  money  lending — not  fighting.  You'll  melt 
away  quickly  enough  in  the  heat  of  your  first  battle." 

"Listen  to  me,  Tim  Durgan,"  retorted  Franks, 
quietly  enough,  but  with  a  dangerous  sparkle  in  his 
eyes.  "I've  endured  your  sneering  ever  since  I  came 
to  camp  and  I'm  growing  weary  of  it,  too.  I  didn't 
know  why  you  wouldn't  be  friends  with  me,  when 
I've  never  done  anything  to  offend  you;  but  if  it's 
because  I'm  a  Jew — " 

"I  want  no  Hebrew  coward  for  a  friend  of  mine," 
was  the  surly  answer. 

"You  can  call  me  a  coward  as  much  as  you  like — 
I'll  show  you  you're  wrong  when  we  face  the  red 
coats.  But  you're  not  going  to  insult  my  people — 
understand?" 

Tim  laughed  contemptuously.  "How  are  you  go 
ing  to  stop  me?"  He  looked  down  at  Isaac  who  was 


"DOWN  WITH  KING  GEORGE!"  41 

a  full  head  shorter  than  himself  and  of  slighter  build. 
"Going  to  fight  me?" 

At  that  moment  the  long  lines  of  buff  and  blue 
straightened  as  one  man  and  a  murmur  of  "the 
General"  passed  down  the  ranks.  Franks,  the  angry 
flush  slowly  dying  from  his  cheeks,  straightened  his 
shoulders  and  gazed  straight  ahead;  but  he  was  not 
too  intent  on  the  arrival  of  General  Washington  to 
fling  a  fierce  aside  to  his  tormentor:  "That's  just 
what  I  intend  to  do  if  you  don't  take  it  back — fight 
you  until  you  do!" 

But  a  moment  later  all  private  hates  and  insults 
were  forgotten  as  the  boy  looked  toward  the  general, 
his  soul  in  his  eyes.  Seated  upon  his  great  horse, 
the  sun  streaming  upon  his  noble,  powdered  head 
and  broad  shoulders,  the  commander  of  the  Ameri 
can  Army  looked  what  he  later  proved  himself  to 
be — an  uncrowned  king  of  men.  A  long,  vibrating 
cheer  rose  from  the  soldiers'  throats ;  then  died  away 
as  Washington  raised  his  hand  for  silence. 

The  young  officer  who  rode  beside  him  unrolled  a 
piece  of  paper  he  carried,  and  read  in  a  loud,  clear 
voice  the  words  which  today  every  school  boy  knows 
or  should  know  by  heart.  But  the  boys  and  men, 
pledged  to  fight  and  die  for  their  country,  heard  them 
for  the  first  time  that  day  and  thrilled  at  the  roll 
ing  sentences  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence, 
which  declared  them  free  forever  from  the  rule  of 
the  British  tyrant,  King  George  III. 

"We  hold  these  truths  to  be  self-evident,"  the  noble 
words  rang  forth  to  the  listening  soldiers,  "That  all 
men  are  created  equal;  that  they  are  endowed  by 


42  THE  NEW  LAND 

their  Creator  with  certain  unalienable  rights;  that 
among  these  are  life,  liberty  and  the  pursuit  of  hap 
piness."  An  answering  thrill  awoke  in  every  heart. 
Isaac  Franks  felt  his  lashes  wet  with  sudden  tears. 
The  son  of  a  nation  of  exiles,  Jews  driven  from  land 
to  land  from  the  days  the  Romans  ploughed  the 
place  where  once  their  Temple  stood,  he  could  ap 
preciate  the  blessings  of  a  home  land  where  even 
the  despised  Jew  might  know  the  meaning  of  equal 
ity  and  liberty  and  justice.  Then  he  thought  of  the 
taunts  of  his  comrade  and  his  face  hardened;  but 
only  for  a  moment  was  he  depressed.  In  America — 
the  land  which  had  pledged  itself  to  grant  equal  op 
portunities  to  all  men — his  was  the  opportunity  to 
show  what  the  Jew  was  worth.  He  would  teach 
Tim  and  his  fellows  that  the  descendants  of  David 
and  the  Maccabees  were  soldiers  worthy  of  their  an 
cestors. 

Smiling  a  little  grimly,  he  turned  his  face  again 
toward  the  young  officer  and  listened  with  stirring 
pulses  to  the  charges  brought  against  the  British  king; 
boy  that  he  was,  he  realized  that  he  and  his  com 
panions  were  fighting  not  the  English  people,  but  a 
servile  Parliament  and  an  unworthy  ruler  who,  ac 
cording  to  the  Declaration,  was  indeed  a  "tyrant  un 
fit  to  be  the  ruler  of  a  free  people."  How  he  wished 
that  King  George  himself  would  cross  the  ocean  to 
frighten  the  colonists  into  submission;  he  would 
much  rather  meet  him  in  battle  than  any  of  his  over 
dressed  officers  or  those  wretched  Hessians,  sold  by 
their  ruler  like  so  much  cattle  to  do  battle  for  a 
country  in  which  they  had  no  interest.  Well,  any- 


"DOWN  WITH  KING  GEORGE!"  43 

how,  Isaac  told  himself  resolutely,  he  would  do  his 
best  to  defeat  the  redcoats — but  he  would  teach  Tim 
Durgan  a  well-needed  lesson  first! 

"And  for  the  support  of  this  declaration,"  ended 
the  reader,  "with  a  firm  reliance  on  the  protection  of 
Divine  Providence,  we  mutually  pledge  to  each  other 
our  lives,  our  fortunes,  and  our  sacred  honor." 

Silence  at  first — then  a  mighty  shout  from  the  as 
sembled  soldiers.  The  air  rang  with  cries  of  "With 
our  lives — With  our  honor!"  as  the  men  of  the  new 
Republic  pledged  themselves  to  fight  for  the  faith 
she  had  just  declared  to  the  world.  Isaac  Franks 
looked  toward  Washington;  the  Virginian  sat  lean 
ing  forward  slightly  in  his  saddle.  His  usually  calm, 
almost  cold  face  was  working  with  emotion ;  his  lips 
moved  as  though  he  were  about  to  address  his  men. 
Then  he  leaned  toward  the  officer  who  had  read  the 
Declaration  and  murmured  something  in  a  low  tone. 
The  latter  turned  to  the  army. 

"The  general  hopes,"  the  clear  tones  rang  forth, 
"that  this  important  event  will  serve  as  an  incentive 
to  every  officer  and  soldier  to  act  with  fidelity  and 
courage,  as  knowing  that  now  the  peace  and  safety 
of  the  country  depend,  under  God,  solely  on  the 
success  of  our  arms  and  that  he  is  in  the  service  of  a 
state  possessed  of  sufficient  power  to  reward  his  merit 
and  advance  him  to  the  highest  honors  of  a  free 
country." 

Slowly  the  soldiers  broke  ranks,  the  dullest  man 
among  them  touched  and  awed  as  though  he  had  at 
tended  a  new  church  and  had  consecrated  himself  to 
her  service.  For  a  moment  Isaac  Franks  forgot  his 


44  THE  NEW  LAND 

jeering  comrade  and  his  own  threats;  he  walked  to 
his  quarters,  head  high  in  the  air,  eyes  looking  far 
away,  as  boy-like  he  dreamed  of  the  days  when  a 
grateful  commonwealth  would  "reward  his  merit  and 
advance  him  to  the  highest  honors  of  a  free  country.'1 
He  walked  on  air,  painting  the  future  in  the  bright 
colors  known  only  to  seventeen,  forgetful  of  the 
world  about  him,  until  he  was  recalled  to  earth  by 
a  mocking  laugh  and  the  question:  "Still  want  to 
fight,  Jew  soldier?" 

Franks  stiffened  and  turned  to  face  his  tormentor, 
his  face  hot  with  anger.  "Yes,  I'll  fight  you  this 
minute,"  he  answered  so  loudly  that  several  soldiers 
passing  by  overhead  his  words  and  stopped  to  see  the 
fun.  "And  thank  you  for  reminding  me,  Durgan." 

He  pulled  off  his  coat  with  a  deliberate  calm  he 
was  far  from  feeling  at  that  moment,  for  he  knew 
only  too  well  that  his  opponent  was  vastly  superior 
to  him  in  strength  and  perhaps  in  experience  as  well. 
But  Isaac  did  not  hesitate  in  spite  of  the  goodnatured 
advice  of  big  Bob  MacDonald  who  stepped  up  at 
that  moment:  "Let  him  alone,  son — you  can't  whip 
him  and  it's  no  use  to  try." 

But  Tim  had  already  taken  off  his  coat  and  stood 
leering  down  upon  Isaac  who  felt  that  he  could  never 
retreat  now;  that  he  would  always  despise  himself 
as  a  coward,  a  traitor  to  the  heroes  of  his  race.  Set 
ting  his  teeth  for  the  drubbing  he  felt  certain  he 
would  receive,  he  struck  out  blindly.  Then  he  felt 
a  hand  grip  his  arm  so  tightly  that  he  winced  with 
pain,  and  looking  up,  saw  that  General  Washington 
stood  beside  him. 


"DOWN  WITH  KING  GEORGE!"  45 

"Well,  men?"  the  commander's  voice  was  very 
stern.  "Have  you  nothing  better  to  do  than  spend 
your  time  brawling  like  a  couple  of  tavern  roisterers? 
Give  me  a  good  and  sufficient  reason  for  such  be 
haviour  or  I'll  have  you  both  tied  up  and  flogged  to 
teach  you  to  act  like  gentlemen  and  soldiers  of  the 
American  Army." 

His  quiet  eyes  scanned  the  flushed,  angry  faces  of 
the  two  lads.  He  turned  sharply  to  Franks.  "I  am 
waiting!"  he  said. 

For  a  moment  Isaac  wavered.  He  had  heard 
enough  of  Washington's  sense  of  justice  to  realize 
that  if  the  chief  knew  his  reason  for  challenging  Dur- 
gan  he  might  escape  with  a  slight  reprimand,  or  even 
a  word  of  praise  for  defending  his  race.  But  only 
for  a  moment.  ,A  gentleman  and  a  soldier  in  the 
American  Army,  young  Franks  decided,  did  not  tell 
tales.  He  shook  his  head. 

"I  am  sorry,  your  excellency,"  he  answered,  re 
spectfully,  "but  I  cannot  tell  you  the  reason  of  our 
quarrel  since  it  concerns  only  ourselves." 

Tim  Durgan,  who  had  waited  for  Isaac's  accusa 
tion  with  a  mocking  smile  about  his  mouth,  gave 
an  incredulous  whistle.  The  despised  "Jew  soldier" 
was  a  man  after  all,  who  would  risk  undeserved  pun 
ishment  rather  than  betray  a  comrade,  no  matter 
how  much  he  hated  him.  In  his  sudden  admiration 
for  the  boy  he  forgot  his  awe  of  General  Washington 
and  burst  out  before  he  was  granted  permission  to 
speak. 

"I'll  tell  you,  Excellency,"  he  cried,  warmly.  "I've 
been  plaguing  and  tormenting  the  lad  and  for  no 


46  THE  NEW  LAND 

fault  of  his  own.  I  never  saw  a  Jew  in  my  whole 
life  before  I  joined  the  army,  but  I'd  heard  tales  of 
them;  cowards  and  afraid  of  their  own,  shadows. 
And  I  teased  the  boy,  never  knowing  he'd  mind,  and 
when  he  did  I  just  kept  on  to  spite  him.  And  when 
he  threatened  to  fight  me,  I  wanted  to  laugh,  for 
you  can  see  for  yourself,  Excellency,  that  I'm  taller 
and  broader  than  he  and  could  toss  him  about  if 
I'd  a  mind  to.  But  he  wasn't  afraid  and  if  you 
hadn't  come  up,  he'd  have  tried  to  fight  me  all  the 
same."  He  paused  for  breath,  smiling  broadly,  and 
held  out  his  hand  to  Franks.  "It's  all  my  fault,  Your 
Excellency,  and  I'm  willing  to  take  what  I  ought  to 
for  it,  but  first  let  me  shake  hands  with  him  and  tell 
him  such  a  game  cock  ought  to've  been  born  an 
Irishman  and  no  mistake." 

The  general  smiled  as  the  two  clasped  hands. 
Then:  "I  am  sorry  I  was  disorderly,  Your  Excel 
lency,"  apologized  Franks.  "I  would  have  tried  to 
forget  a  personal  insult  but  I  could  not  stand  by  and 
allow  my  people  to  be  slandered.  But  I  know  now 
that  he  did  not  understand." 

"It  takes  a  long  time  for  some  of  us  to  under 
stand,  my  boy,"  answered  the  general  slowly,  and, 
so  thought  Isaac,  a  little  sadly,  too.  "But  some  day, 
God  grant  it,  we  will  all  understand  the  words  you 
both  have  heard  today  and  America  will  know  no 
distinction  of  race,  creed  or  station — only  the  worth 
that  makes  a  man."  He  turned  suddenly  to  Tim 
Durgan.  "You  come  of  a  fighting  breed,  my  man," 
he  said  warmly,  "and  just  now  when  you  confessed 
your  fault  you  showed  true  courage.  I  need  fighters 


"DOWN  WITH  KING  GEORGE!"  47 

as  strong  as  your  Irish  ancestors;  learn  to  fight  only 
for  our  country  and  forget  your  petty  quarrels  and 
prejudices."  He  placed  a  kindly  hand  on  Isaac's 
shoulder.  "And  a  boy  who  is  as  loyal  a  Jew  as  you, 
must  be  a  loyal  American.  I  hope  you  will  always 
carry  yourself  as  honorably  as  you  did  today.  What 
is  your  name,  my  lad?" 

"Isaac  Franks,  sir,"  answered  the  boy,  flushing 
beneath  his  commander's  praise. 

"Isaac  Franks  of  this  city?" 

"Yes,  sir.  I  have  always  lived  in  New  York  and 
I  enlisted  here.". 

"Then  you  must  be  the  boy  of  whom  Colonel 
Lescher  spoke  to  me.  He  said  that  you  were  so 
eager  to  serve  that  you  even  bought  your  own  uni 
form  and  field  equipment.  I  expect  to  hear  from  you 
again."  He  was  about  to  pass  on,  then  paused  to 
add  kindly:  "And  since  this  is  a  holiday  afternoon, 
why  not  spend  it  abroad  instead  of  wrangling  here. 
Now,"  with  a  slight  smile,  "my  Hebrew  David  and 
my  Irish  Jonathan,  be  off  with  you;  and  hereafter 
keep  your  blows  for  the  British,"  he  added,  half 
jestingly,  as  he  walked  off,  leaving  the  two  lads  star 
ing  somewhat  sheepishly  at  each  other  as  they 
strolled  a  little  apart  from  the  others. 

Tim  was  the  first  to  speak.  "It  was  great  of  you 
not  to  tell  when  he  asked  you,"  he  said  warmly. 
"And  if  I  can  ever  make  up  to  you  for  what  I  said 
about  Jews — "  which  proves  that  Tim  Durgan  never 
made  a  foe  or  a  friend  by  halves. 

"We'll  forget  all  about  that,"  answered  Franks 
lightly.  "But  we've  wasted  a  good  part  of  the  after- 


48  THE  NEW  LAND 

noon  already.  Let's  take  a  long  walk  and  drink  to 
our  friendship  in  some  good  brown  ale.  I  know  a 
tavern  near  Bowling  Green  where  there's  always 
jolly  company  and  a  full  measure  for  a  men  in  uni 
form." 

Chatting  idly  together,  the  two  began  their  walk 
through  the  camp,  passing  rapidly  down  the  crowded 
streets.  There  was  a  great  stir  in  the  city,  for  the 
storm  clouds  of  hate  against  the  British  ruler  which 
had  been  gathering  for  so  many  months  had  sud 
denly  burst  at  the  news  of  the  signing  of  the  Declara 
tion  at  Philadelphia,  and  the  air  was  heavy  with  pro 
tests  of  loyalty  to  the  new  government,  and  threats 
against  King  George.  So  when  Tim  and  Isaac 
reached  Bowling  Green  it  was  an  excited  crowd  that 
they  found  there,  gathered  about  the  leaden  statue 
of  King  George  III;  men  and  half-grown  boys,  with 
here  and  there  a  soldier  enjoying  his  half-holiday. 

"One  would  think  the  British  were  already  here," 
Tim  growled  goodnaturedly.  "If  these  merchants 
would  stop  cackling  together  like  the  hens  in  my 
father's  poultry  yard  at  home,  and  shoulder  a  gun, 
we'd  drive  Master  George's  tin  soldiers  and  the 
Hessians  back  across  the  water  so  quick  they'd 
hardly  know  they'd  been  here  at  all." 

From  the  confused  murmur  of  many  voices  came 
one  rumbling  cry  which  the  boys  caught  and  smiled 
to  hear:  "Down  with  King  George!  We  are  free 
men.  Down  with  King  George!" 

A  thin  little  man  in  a  black  coat  elbowed  his  way 
to  the  base  of  the  statue  from  which  vantage  point 
he  tried  to  address  the  crowd.  "Friends,"  he  quav- 


"DOWN  WITH  KING  GEORGE!"  49 

ered,  as  the  uproar  died,  the  idle  mob  ever  ready 
for  some  new  amusement,  "friends,  don't  be  too 
rash.  Look  before  you  leap.  We  are  only  a  hand 
ful  of  untrained  farmers  and  merchants.  The  armies 
of  King  George " 

But  before  he  could  speak  further,  the  crowd  sud 
denly  broke  lose  with :  "Another  cursed  Tory!  He 
is  in  the  King's  hire  ! — Drag  him  down  ! — Hang  him 
to  a  tree  to  teach  other  Tories  and  traitors  to  hold 
their  tongues !" 

The  suggestion  was  like  a  fire  brand  to  dry  tim 
ber.  Before  the  two  soldiers  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  crowd  could  fully  realized  what  had  happened, 
a  stout  apprentice  lad  in  a  leather  apron  had  pro 
cured  a  rope  which  another  brawny  fellow  flung 
around  the  Tory's  neck.  He  tried  to  plead  for 
mercy  but  his  voice  was  silenced  by  the  howling  of 
the  mob,  so  desperate  in  its  rage  against  the  king 
that  they  sought  blind  vengeance  on  their  victim 
for  daring  to  speak  in  his  behalf. 

Isaac  started  forward,  his  face  white  and  tense. 
"Come,  Tim,"  he  cried,  "We  must  make  them  set 
him  free." 

The  Irishman  shrugged.  "A  Tory  more  or  less! 
Let  them  hang  him  and  welcome." 

Isaac  Franks  did  not  answer.  He  only  pushed 
his  way  through  the  mob,  the  crowd  giving  place  to 
his  uniform.  He  knew  he  could  do  nothing  against 
them  single-handed;  yet  he  felt  that  he  could  not  let 
this  innocent  man  die.  And,  curiously  enough,  he 
thought  less  of  the  Tory's  fate  than  the  shame 
that  would  fall  upon  the  people  of  his  native 


50  THE  NEW  LAND 

city,  if  they  committed  such  a  crime  in  their 
reckless  fury.  He  neared  the  front  where  several 
older  and  cooler  citizens  stood  trying  in  vain  to  per 
suade  the  angry  patriots  to  release  the  Tory.  Then 
a  splendid  thought  flashed  through  his  quick  mind, 
and  springing  lightly  upon  the  leaden  statue,  he  cried 
in  a  ringing  voice:  "I  come  from  General  Wash 
ington." 

The  magic  name  hushed  the  angry  crowd.  They 
waited  eagerly  for  the  boy's  words. 

"I  serve  the  general  of  the  American  Army,"  con 
tinued  Franks,  "and  I  am  as  loyal  as  any  of  you,  for 
I  carry  a  gun  to  defend  my  country  while  you  do 
nothing  but  cackle,  cackle  like  the  hens  in  a  poultry 
yard."  The  crowd,  quick  to  respond  to  every  sug 
gestion,  laughed  goodhumoredly  at  Tim's  mocking 
description  which  was  now  standing  his  friend  in 
good  stead.  "And  you  have  as  much  brains  as  the 
hens  in  a  poultry  yard,"  continued  the  boy,  follow 
ing  his  advantage,  "for  instead  of  pulling  out  the 
roots  of  your  trouble,  you  attack  this  poor  fool  who 
never  saw  King  George  and  is  not  even  one  of  his 
soldiers."  He  leaned  down  and  half  pulled  the 
rope  from  the  Tory's  neck.  "He  is  not  worthy  the 
honor  of  hanging.  Use  your  good  rope  to  haul  down 
the  statue  of  his  Gracious  Majesty,  King  George  III 
— which  has  cumbered  our  city  too  long.  And  melt 
the  lead  into  bullets  which  the  soldiers  of  General 
Washington  will  use  against  any  Briton  who  dares 
to  enter  our  New  York." 

A  roar  of  applause  broke  from  the  crowd.  "Down 
with  King  George!"  they  cried  as  a  dozen  eager 


"DOWN  WITH  KING  GEORGE!"  51 

hands  pulled  the  rope  from  the  frightened  Tory's 
neck  and  flung  it  about  the  statue.  The  Tory,  only 
too  glad  to  make  his  escape,  crept  away  unnoticed 
in  the  crowd,  already  intent  upon  pulling  the  leaden 
effigy  to  the  ground.  They  tugged  as  one  man,  that 
howling,  maddened  mob  until  with  a  great  crash  the 
deposed  statue  of  the  hated  British  king  lay  upon  the 
ground.  Then:  "Bullets"  was  the  cry,  "bullets  for 
our  soldiers,"  as,  laughing  and  shouting,  the  citizens 
of  New  York  dragged  the  statue  away  to  be  melted 
into  bullets  for  colonial  rifles. 

Isaac  Franks  looked  longingly  after  them.  But 
he  knew  that  it  would  soon  be  time  for  "taps"  and 
he  dared  not  be  late.  With  a  little  sigh,  he  turned 
his  face  toward  the  camp,  where,  under  General 
Washington,  he  hoped  to  learn  to  become  a  good 
soldier  of  the  Republic. 


THE  LAST  SERVICE 

The  Story  of  a  Rabbi  Who  Lived  in  New   York 
When  it  Was  Captured  by  the  British  in  1776 

A  Sabbath  hush  brooded  over  the  garden  of  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Gershom  Mendes  Seixas,  minister  of  New 
York's  one  synagogue,  Shearith  Israel.  The  tall 
pink  and  white  hollyhocks  that  bordered  the  prim 
paths  nodded  languidly  in  the  warm  September 
breeze.  From  the  trees  came  tht  twitter  of  spar 
rows,  now  low  and  conversational,  now  high  and 
shrill,  "just  like  people  in  the  synagogue,"  thought 
little  David  Phillips,  as  he  strolled  in  his  grand 
mother's  garden  on  the  other  side  of  the  hedge.  And 
if  David  had  pulled  aside  the  white  curtains  of  the 
Rabbi's  study  windows,  he  would  have  seen  that  the 
same  Sabbath  peace  filled  the  low-ceilinged  room,  the 
walls  covered  with  books,  most  of  them  rather  for 
bidding  in  their  musty,  leather  bindings.  A  peaceful, 
restful  room  on  the  Jewish  rest  day;  but,  boy  as  he 
was,  David  would  have  seen  at  a  glance  that  Rabbi 
Seixas  was  not  at  peace  with  himself.  A  keen-eyed, 
quick-moving  young  man  of  about  thirty,  he  paced 
restlessly  up  and  down  between  the  bookshelves,  his 
hands  clasped  behind  his  back,  his  brows  knit  in 
thought.  Several  times  he  glanced  at  the  tall  clock 
his  father  had  brought  from  Lisbon;  it  would  soon 
be  time  for  him  to  go  to  the  synagogue;  but  what 
message  had  he  to  give  his  people? 

52 


THE  LAST  SERVICE  53 

Down  the  quiet  street  came  the  roll  of  drums,  and 
David  rushed  to  the  gate,  wishing  with  all  his  heart 
that  he  might  follow  the  soldiers.  But  he  knew  that 
his  grandmother  expected  him  to  take  her  to  the 
synagogue,  and  he  did  not  dare  to  leave  the  garden; 
instead  he  stood  kicking  holes  in  the  path  with  his 
shining  Sabbath  boots  which  at  that  moment  he  hated 
with  all  his  might,  just  as  he  hated  the  ruffles  of  fine 
linen  that  his  grandmother  had  painfully  stitched  for 
him  with  her  loving,  rheumatic  old  fingers,  and  his 
Sabbath  suit  in  which  he  was  never  allowed  to  romp 
or  play.  And  at  that  moment,  with  the  British  ac 
tually  knocking  at  New  York's  front  door,  one  could 
hardly  blame  a  small  boy  for  growing  impatient  at 
the  restrictions  of  a  doting  old  grandmother,  no  mat 
ter  how  much  she  might  indulge  the  orphan  grand 
son  whom  his  dying  father  had  left  in  her  charge  the 
year  before.  If  he  were  only  a  man,  thought  David, 
longingly;  only  old  enough  to  be  with  General  Wash 
ington's  troops  across  the  river.  But  a  ten-year-old 
boy,  who  couldn't  even  play  the  drum  like  Frank 
Morris,  the  apprentice  lad  who  had  run  away  to  join 
the  army,  couldn't  serve  his  country  any  better  than 
a  feeble  old  lady  like  Grandma  or  a  minister  like  the 
rabbi  next  door. 

The  roll  of  drums  had  startled  the  rabbi  as  well 
as  his  young  neighbor  and  he  now  appeared  in  his 
garden,  walking  with  swift,  nervous  steps  to  the  gate. 
At  first,  he  did  not  seem  to  see  David;  only  stared 
down  the  road  with  wide,  eager  eyes,  his  hands  grip 
ping  the  rails  of  the  gate  until  his  knuckles  showed 
hard  and  white;  then,  as  the  drums  grew  fainter,  his 


54  THE  NEW  LAND 

shoulders  relaxed  a  little,  he  sighed  deeply,  and,  turn 
ing  toward  David,  nodded  kindly,  even  smiling,  as 
though  he  had  no  deeper  thought  in  his  mind  than 
giving  his  young  friend  a  Sabbath  greeting. 

"Good  Shabbas,"  said  the  rabbi.  "I  see  you're  all 
ready  for  service,  my  lad." 

"Yes,  sir.  I'm  just  waiting  for  Grandmother." 
From  far  off  came  the  last  sound  of  the  drums.  "Did 
you  hear  the  drums,  sir?  I  wonder  whether  more  of 
our  troops  are  coming  to  the  city." 

The  minister's  face  darkened.  "Rather  the  Ameri 
can  troops  are  leaving  it,  I  fear,"  he  answered 
gravely.  "Mr.  Levy  who  came  by  early  this  morn 
ing  told  me  that  four  British  ships  have  already 
passed  up  North  River,  and  that  there  are  about  the 
same  number  anchored  in  Turtle  Bay.  They  may 

make  a  landing  at  any  time — and  if  they  do "  he 

smiled  somewhat  grimly,  "well,  I  fear,  my  lad,  that 
we  will  be  living  in  a  British  province." 

But  David  had  heard  too  much  from  his  cousins 
in  Philadelphia  of  the  glorious  doings  of  a  few 
months  before,  the  Declaration  of  Independence 
signed  in  July,  the  ringing  of  the  great  Liberty  Bell. 
And  he  answered  as  sturdily  as  any  other  boy  of 
1776  might  have  done:  "No,  sir.  The  British  may 
take  the  city,  but  no  true-born  American  will  sub 
mit  to  their  rule." 

Rabbi  Seixas  smiled  a  little  at  his  fire.  "But  what 
will  you  do,  David?  They  are  already  at  our  gates. 
From  what  I  have  heard  not  even  General  Wash 
ington,  lying  across  the  river  with  his  troops,  can 
stay  the  British  now.  General  Howe  will  hold  a 


THE  LAST  SERVICE  55 

tight  rein  over  the  city  and  we  must  learn  to  bow 
our  shoulders  to  the  yoke." 

David  stiffened  his  small  shoulders  stubbornly  as 
though  he  actually  stood  before  the  hated  English 
officer.  "The  good  people  of  Boston,"  he  began, 
proudly,  "were  not  afraid  of  the  redcoats — "  then 
stopped,  for  his  older  companion  did  not  have  to  re 
mind  him  of  the  fate  of  the  Boston  citizens  shot  down 
on  the  public  common  by  the  soldiers  of  King  George. 

"Ah,  little  David,"  said  the  minister,  sadly,  read 
ing  his  thoughts,  "we  will  be  just  as  powerless  before 
our  foe  as  our  ancestors  were  before  the  Philistines." 

A  merry  twinkle  sparkled  in  David's  eyes;  he  was 
a  bright  little  fellow  and  he  had  not  studied  He 
brew  and  Jewish  history  all  the  long  winter  with  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Seixas  without  learning  a  few  lessons  very 
helpful  in  time  of  need.  "Didn't  David  and  his 
sling  frighten  the  whole  Philistine  army  away?"  he 
asked,  mischievously. 

The  minister  did  not  smile.  "But  the  Lord  was 
on  David's  side,"  he  answered,  gravely.  "Today 
he  seems  to  have  deserted  His  People." 

Down  the  street  came  a  man  whose  white  hairs 
might  have  marked  him  as  aged  had  not  his  bright 
eyes  and  resolute  bearing  spoken  of  undying  youth. 
He  paused  a  moment  at  the  gate,  bowing  to  the  Rabbi 
with  all  the  formal  courtliness  of  his  day. 

"Good  Shabbas,  Mr.  Gomez,"  said  the  minister. 
"You  are  on  your  way  to  the  synagogue?" 

"Yes.  Perhaps  it  may  be  the  last  service  we  will 
have  in  Shearith  Israel  before  the  cursed  British  guns 
blow  our  roof  about  our  ears,"  answered  the  older 


56  THE  NEW  LAND 

man.  "Alas,  Mr.  Seixas,  when  you  were  elected  our 
Rabbi  but  a  year  ago,  I  predicted  a  long  and  fruitful 
term  of  service  for  you  in  our  midst.  But  now — " 
a  hopeless  shrug  completed  the  sentence. 

"Believe  me,  I  shall  not  fail  in  my  duty  as  long  as  I 
serve  the  congregation  of  Shearith  Israel,"  answered 
the  young  Rabbi,  rather  stiffly. 

"I  know — I  know."  The  white  head  nodded 
gloomily.  "You  will  do  what  you  can  as  a  priest, 
but  this  war  must  be  won  by  men.  I  have  lived  al 
most  seventy  years,  Mr.  Seixas,  and  have  always 
sought  to  be  a  good  Jew  and  hold  up  the  hands  of 
those  who  served  the  Lord,  as  I  know  you  strive  to 
do.  And  in  times  of  peace,  a  man  of  your  learning 
and  purity  of  heart  is  a  worthy  leader.  But  in  these 
times  that  try  men's  souls,  we  need  not  priests,  but 
men,"  he  repeated  and  walked  slowly  away. 

"What  did  he  mean,  Mr.  Seixas?"  asked  David 
as  the  old  man  disappeared  down  the  street.  His 
eager  little  ears  had  taken  in  every  word  of  the  con 
versation;  but  he  had  not  dared  to  ask  questions 
while  his  elders  were  conversing,  and  had  remained 
silent  as  a  well-bred  lad  of  his  day  was  taught  to  do. 
"Does  he  mean  we  shouldn't  have  rabbis  and  min 
isters  when  there's  a  war?" 

The  rabbi  shook  his  head.  "Not  exactly  that, 
David.  But  perhaps  he  wishes  that  today  we  had 
fighting  priests  like  the  old  Maccabees,  those  men 
who  went  to  battle  with  swords  in  their  hands, 
prayers  in  their  hearts.  And  old  Mr.  Gomez  is  a 
fit  descendant  of  those  heroes,"  he  cried  with  sudden 
warmth.  "Old  as  he  is,  he  offered  to  form  a  com- 


THE  LAST  SERVICE  57 

pany  of  soldiers  for  service  and  enlist  himself.  When 
he  was  told  that  he  was  too  old  to  take  the  field,  he 
said:  'I  could  stop  a  bullet  as  well  as  a  younger 
man.'  It  is  such  a  spirit  that  wins  wars,  David." 

"That's  splendid!"  exclaimed  the  boy.  "I  know 
how  he  feels — just  sitting  around  New  York  and 
waiting  for  the  British  to  come  and  rule  over  us! 
If  I  were  only  old  enough  to  go  and  fight,  too!  I 
wish,"  wistfully,  "I  were  grown  up  like  you.  Then 
I  wouldn't  have  to  be  here  today,  waiting  to  go  to 
the  synagogue  with  Grandmother.  I'd  be  with  Frank 
and  General  Washington  and  be  fighting  for  my 
country." 

The  minister's  cheeks  flushed;  he  winced  as 
though  the  boy's  innocent  words  had  hurt  him  deeply. 
When  he  spoke  it  seemed  that  he  was  almost  think 
ing  aloud;  that  he  had  forgotten  his  young  companion 
on  the  other  side  of  the  hedge. 

"How  can  I  lay  aside  my  clergyman's  cloak  for 
the  soldier's  uniform?"  he  asked,  slowly.  "And  how 
can  I  leave  my  bride  of  a  year — perhaps  never  to 
return  to  her?  And  my  people — I  have  not  been 
with  them  any  longer:  surely,  my  duty  is  to  them; 
to  guide  and  lead  them  in  this  time  of  danger  and 
uncertainty.  Otherwise  I  would  be  like  a  shepherd 
who  rushes  oft  to  fight  the  robbers  of  the  moun 
tains,  while  his  flocks  are  torn  by  wolves  that  ravage 
close  at  hand." 

He  spoke  as  though  he  were  reciting  the  words 
of  a  speech  already  written  and  learned  by  rote, 
thought  David,  half-wondering  if  the  minister  weren't 
learning  his  sermon  for  that  morning.  For  how 


58  THE  NEW  LAND 

could  the  boy  know  that  Mr.  Seixas  had  again  and 
again  repeated  to  himself  the  very  arguments  he  was 
now  uttering  aloud  for  the  first  time.  Suddenly  the 
young  man  who  had  stood  like  one  in  a  dream,  lean 
ing  upon  the  gate,  his  eyes  looking  far  way,  turned 
toward  him  and  smiled  almost  in  apology. 

"Have  you  wondered  at  my  words,  little  David?" 
he  asked,  almost  lightly.  "Ah,  in  days  like  these, 
one  says  many  strange  and  unheard-of  things.  I  have 
tried  to  refrain  from  speaking,  for  now  mere  words 
are  idle  and  of  little  worth.  But  when  I  think  of 
my  New  York — the  city  in  which  I  was  born  and 
reared — in  the  hands  of  the  British,  I  must  speak, 
or  my  heart  would  choke  me."  His  hand  tugged 
at  the  linen  stock  about  his  throat.  "God  of  Israel," 
he  muttered,  "in  these  dark  days,  give  Thy  servant 
light  to  see  Thy  ways — and  strength  to  follow  them." 

David,  feeling  strangely  awkward  at  hearing  his 
rabbi  pray,  save  in  the  pulpit,  looked  longingly  at 
the  house,  hoping  that  his  grandmother  would  come 
out  and  end  the  discussion  which  was  becoming  a 
little  difficult  for  him.  But  he  knew  how  long  it 
always  took  her  to  don  her  Sabbath  silk  and  long  gold 
chain  and  earings,  and  resigned  himself  to  listen, 
should  the  Rev.  Mr.  Seixas  care  to  talk  to  him  fur 
ther. 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  silence  between 
them.  Then  the  rabbi  turned  to  David  again  and 
continued  to  speak  to  him  as  though  he  were  really 
grown  up,  and  not  a  little  boy  who  had  studied 
Hebrew  and  history  with  him  all  winter. 

"I  am  not  afraid  to  go  into  battle,"  he  said  quietly, 


THE  LAST  SERVICE  59 

"but  I  feel  that  it  will  take  far  more  bravery  to  fight 
for  our  country  right  here  at  home.  I  must  be  on 
hand  to  cheer  and  comfort  my  people;  to  teach  those 
who  lose  their  dear  ones  on  the  battlefield  to  look 
to  our  God  for  consolation ;  to  teach  those  who  stay 
at  home  to  do  their  part  too,  even  if  it  be  but  knitting 
and  baking  dainties  for  our  soldiers.  That  will  be 
easy,"  he  mused,  "but  how  can  I  endure  living  here 
under  British  rule,  feeling  myself  a  slave  among  a 
slave  people?"  He  threw  back  his  head,  his  eyes 
glowing  with  the  light  of  battle.  "Our  people  have 
wandered,  many  of  them,  from  Spain  to  Holland, 
from  Holland  to  this  blessed  land,  to  be  free;  how 
can  I,  a  leader  in  Israel,  bow  down  to  the  sons  of 
Belial  who  will  come  among  us!"  His  hands  clenched 
the  wickets  of  the  gate;  he  breathed  hard  and  was 
silent. 

As  he  spoke  in  ringing  tones,  an  almost  forgotten 
picture  flashed  before  David's  eyes.  He  was  lis 
tening  again  to  the  rabbi's  story  of  the  days  when 
the  Romans  besieged  Jerusalem  and  laid  it  waste 
and  took  the  people  captive.  He  remembered  how 
Mr.  Seixas  had  glowed  with  pride  when  he  told  of 
those  ancient  Jews — "Fighters  all,  David,  who  could 
not  live  as  slaves." 

"Mr.  Seixas,"  asked  David,  suddenly,  "in  the 
old  days  when  the  Romans  burned  the  Temple  and 
everything,  what  did  the  rabbis  do?  Did  they  fight 
like  Bar  Kochba  and  the  other  generals?" 

With  a  visible  effort,  the  rabbi  wrenched  himself 
back  to  the  present.  "The  Romans"' — he  repeated, 
vaguely.  "What  did  the  rabbis  do?"  Again  his 


60  THE  NEW  LAND 

voice  thrilled  with  pride  as  it  had  done  when  he  had 
first  told  the  child  the  story  of  Bar  Kochba's  rebel 
lion.  "They  were  brave  men,  David;  priests  and 
warriors.  Rabbi  Akiba  did  the  thing  I  must  try  to 
do — kept  the  fighters  brave  and  loyal;  and  when  he 
could  do  no  more,  he  died  as  bravely  as  the  bravest 
soldier  of  them  all." 

"But  there  was  one  rabbi  who  didn't  die,"  insisted 
David.  "I  forget  his  name,  but  I  liked  him  better 
than  all  the  others  because  he  got  the  best  of  the 
Romans.  Don't  you  know — he  pretended  he  was 
dead  and  had  his  pupils  take  him  to  the  Emperor  in 
d  coffin,  that  the  guards  wouldn't  stop  them  when 
they  passed  the  gates.  And  when  the  Emperor  asked 
him  what  he  wanted,  he  said  'Just  let  me  build  a 
school  and  I  won't  trouble  anybody !  What  was  his 
name,  Mr.  Seixas?" 

"You  are  thinking  of  Rabbi  Johanan  ben  Zakkai," 
answered  his  teacher,  slowly.  "You  are  right — he 
did  'get  the  best  of  the  Romans,'  as  you  say.  He 
would  have  died  rather  than  breathe  the  air  of  a 
Roman  court  like  Josephus;  instead  he  continued  to 
fight  the  enemy  of  his  people;  he  handed  down  to 
his  disciples  the  sword  with  which  they  were  to  fight 
through  the  centuries." 

"What  sword?"  asked  David,  puzzled. 

"Not  a  real  sword;  the  study  of  our  Law,  our 
Torah.  He  opened  a  school  at  Jabneh,  you  remem 
ber,  and  there  he  taught  his  scholars  to  be  good 
Jews,  even  though  Jerusalem  was  destroyed."  His 
eyes  widened  and  again  he  seemed  to  be  looking 
far  away.  "Jerusalem  was  destroyed,  even  as  the 


THE  LAST  SERVICE  61 

city  of  my  hope  will  be  taken  from  me.  But  Rabbi 
ben  Zakkai  escaped  to  Jabneh  and  continued  the 
battle  there!"  He  spoke  almost  in  a  whisper  and  a 
strange  light  glowed  in  his  face.  "Have  you  been 
sent  to  teach  me  the  truth,  David?  Truly,  'out  of 
the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings  hast  Thou  or 
dained  truth.'" 

Mistress  Seixas  appeared  at  the  doorway,  a  bright- 
faced  young  woman,  pretty  in  her  Sabbath  finery  of 
gay  silk  mantle  and  flowered  bonnet.  "I  am  all 
ready,  Gershom,"  she  told  her  husband  as  she  came 
down  the  path. 

"And  I  am  ready,  too,  Elkallah,"  he  answered  so 
gravely  that  David  felt  he  meant  much  more  than 
the  simple  words  implied. 

David,  as  a  boy  who  was  not  yet  Bar  Mitzvah, 
sat  beside  his  grandmother  in  the  Shearith  Israel 
synagogue  that  bright  September  morning,  while  the 
drums  beat  in  the  streets  and  the  frightened  citizens 
buzzed  excitedly  in  knots  upon  the  street  corners,  this 
man  contending  that  the  British  would  be  defeated 
before  they  even  crossed  the  Sound,  his  neighbor  de 
claring  that  on  the  morrow  the  redcoats  would  surely 
be  encamped  in  the  city.  Within  the  synagogue,  the 
Jewish  citizens  of  New  York  continued  to  hold  their 
Sabbath  services.  A  goodly  assembly  they  were; 
Jews  of  proud  blood  from  Spain  and  Portugal,  des 
cendants  of  the  early  settlers  in  New  Amsterdam, 
when  the  city  of  New  York  was  still  in  the  hand  of 
the  Dutch ;  a  sprinkling  of  Ashkenazim,  German  and 
Polish  Jews,  who  at  that  time  were  too  few  in  num 
ber  to  have  a  congregation  of  their  own.  There  were 


62  THE  NEW  LAND 

many  children  and  young  people  there,  pupils  and 
graduates  of  the  religious  school  the  congregation 
had  founded  almost  fifty  years  before  for  the  teach 
ing  of  Hebrew,  modern  languages  and  the  common 
branches.  While  among  the  men  sat  sturdy  patriots, 
Samuel  Judah,  Hayem  Levy,  Jacob  Mosez  and  others 
whose  names  had  appeared  on  the  Non-importation 
agreement  in  1769,  when  they  with  their  gentile 
neighbors  had  dared  to  protest  against  the  tyranny 
of  Great  Britain.  Benjamin  Seixas  was  there,  too, 
one  of  the  first  Jews  to  become  an  officer  in  the  Amer 
ican  Army  and  several  other  Jewish  soldiers  in  their 
uniforms  of  buff  and  blue  sat  nearby;  while  directly 
before  him,  his  alert  face  thrust  forward,  sat  old 
Mr.  Gomez,  drinking  in  every  word  of  the  sermon 
the  young  rabbi  delivered  after  the  Sabbath  services 
were  over;  an  English  sermon,  destined  to  make  Jew 
ish  history  in  America. 

At  first  Rabbi  Seixas  spoke  quietly  enough,  re 
viewing  for  his  people  the  causes  which  had  led  up 
to  the  break  between  the  mother  country,  England, 
and  her  colonies.  He  spoke  of  the  tyranny  of  the 
king  and  his  slavish  Parliament,  the  unjust  taxes,  the 
quartering  of  troops  upon  a  law-abiding  and  peace- 
loving  people.  With  quiet  bitterness,  he  repeated  the 
old  story  of  the  children  of  Israel  who  demanded  that 
their  prophet  Samuel  set  a  king  over  them,  and  of 
the  prophet's  warning  that  only  evil  would  come  to  a 
people  who  served  a  king  instead  of  the  Lord  of 
Hosts.  "And  today,"  went  on  Mr.  Seixas,  "today, 
we  the  people  of  the  Thirteen  Colonies  have  a  king 
over  us  far  more  tyrannical  and  unjust  than  the  orien- 


THE  LAST  SERVICE  63 

tal  monarch  Samuel  painted  of  old.  To  this  day  have 
I  been  silent,  breathing  no  word  against  this  Pharoah 
of  Egypt,  for  the  mission  of  Israel  has  ever  been 
peace,  and  next  to  God  we  have  been  loyal  to  the 
masters  He  has  set  over  us.  But  in  times  like  these 
we  are  serving  Him  best  by  defying  those  who  rule 
in  His  name,  but  know  not  His  laws  of  mercy  and 
of  justice.  The  time  has  come  at  last  for  us  to  enter 
the  Valley  of  Decision.  Where  will  you  stand  now, 
my  people,  when  the  redcoats  thunder  at  our  gates? 
Shall  we  bow  before  Pharaoh?  Nay,  the  same  God 
who  rescued  our  fathers  from  the  Pharaoh  of  Egypt 
will  rescue  us  and  all  who  call  upon  Him,  from  this 
new  tyrant  who  would  bend  our  necks  and  fetter  us 
like  very  slaves." 

There  was  a  solemn  hush  in  the  synagogue,  broken 
only  by  the  murmur  of  the  passing  crowds  outside, 
the  distant  roll  of  drums.  For  the  first  time  that 
morning  David  was  glad  he  had  not  been  allowed  to 
run  off  to  see  the  soldiers.  This  was  not  an  every- 
week  sort  of  sermon  about  keeping  the  Sabbath  or 
about  some  dead  kings  with  long,  hard  names;  the 
rabbi  no  longer  seemed  just  a  quiet  man  in  a  dark 
coat  who  had  a  great  many  books  and  knew  every 
thing  and  taught  him  Hebrew  and  history.  Instead, 
he  appeared  like  those  splendid  fighting  priests  he 
had  mentioned  that  morning,  a  man  who  talked  to 
God — and  held  a  sword  in  his  hand  while  he  prayed. 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Seixas  stood  before  his  con 
gregation,  looking  down  into  the  tense,  upturned 
faces,  yet  past  them,  as  though  his  eyes  saw  visions 
no  other  man  there  might  see.  Perhaps  he  was  think- 


64  THE  NEW  LAND 

ing  of  what  a  great  step  he  had  just  taken;  how  his 
words  had  outlawed  him  forever  in  the  sight  of  the 
English  king;  had  made  him  an  exile  from  the  dear 
city  of  his  birth.  Again  his  hands  clutched  at  his 
stock  and  he  breathed  with  difficulty,  but  only  for  a 
moment.  For  his  eyes  met  those  of  his  young  wife, 
Elkallah,  and  he  smiled  to  reassure  her  and  give  her 
comfort.  When  he  spoke  again,  his  voice  was  low 
and  clear,  but  as  strong  as  a  trumpet  call  in  battle. 

"Tonight,  perhaps;  surely,  tomorrow,  the  British 
will  have  entered  our  city — but  they  will  not  find  me 
here.  For  I  will  not  serve  the  Lord  in  a  sanctuary 
from  which  Freedom  has  departed.  I  will  leave  the 
city  and  seek  for  a  place  of  refuge  where  the  soldiers 
of  the  colonies  fight  for  freedom.  And,  my  people, 
I  ask  you  in  the  words  of  Mattathias,  that  warrior 
priest  of  other  days — 'Those  who  are  on  the  Lord's 
side  follow  me !' ' 

Again  a  long  silence,  then  an  uproar  from  every 
side.  "He  speaks  truly!  It  is  slavery  if  we  re 
main  1"  "I  cannot  leave  my  property  to  be  con 
fiscated  by  the  Crown."  "The  British  will  never  take 
the  city."  "They  will  be  here  by  sunrise."  And 
suddenly  little  David's  shrill  voice  ringing  above  the 
others,  although  he  never  realized  until  hours  after 
wards,  when  he  was  reprimanded  by  his  grandmother, 
that  he  had  dared  to  speak  out  with  all  the  older 
and  wiser  members  of  the  congregation : 

"O  Mr.  Seixas,  please  take  me  along,  too !  I  don't 
want  to  live  in  New  York  any  more  if  the  redcoats 
are  here." 

"And  I  will  follow  you,"  cried  another  voice,  "al- 


THE  LAST  SERVICE  65 

though  my  fortune  be  forfeit  and  my  land  be  seized 
by  the  king." 

"And  I — and  I,"  rang  out  from  every  corner  of 
the  synagogue. 

Some  were  silent,  those  who  were  to  remain  be 
hind,  and  as  Tories,  know  the  friendship  of  the  in 
vaders.  But  the  greater  part  of  the  worshippers, 
those  whose  ancestors  like  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  had 
come  to  these  shores  to  seek  freedom  before  God, 
responded  to  their  rabbi's  call  like  true  soldiers  about 
their  standard  bearer. 

"All  that  the  Lord  hath  laid  upon  us,  that  will  we 
do,"  cried  out  a  very  old  man,  rising  to  his  feet  and 
trembling  with  age  as  he  spoke.  "My  eyes  are  dim, 
but  He  will  not  close  them  in  death  until  they  behold 
the  rising  of  the  sun  of  freedom  upon  these  blessed 
shores." 

He  spoke  like  an  ancient  prophet  and  a  hush  like 
death  fell  upon  the  people.  Slowly,  like  a  man  in  a 
dream,  Rabbi  Seixas  walked  to  the  Ark  and  took 
from  it  the  Scrolls  of  the  Law;  with  the  eyes  of  a 
man  who  sees  visions  he  clasped  the  Torah  to  his 
breast  and  spoke:  "When  Jerusalem  was  destroyed, 
Rabbi  Johanan  ben  Zakkai  rebuilt  a  spiritual  Jeru 
salem  in  the  little  town  of  Jabneh  where  the  faithful 
ones  sat  at  his  feet  and  learned  the  Law.  I  will  not 
leave  our  precious  Torah  behind  me  to  be  used  by 
those  who  remain  here  to  serve  King  George  instead 
of  the  King  of  Israel.  Some  time,  some  place  God 
will  establish  a  refuge  for  His  faithful  ones  and  there 
will  we  worship  Him  as  free  men."  He  spoke  with 
a  great  hope  in  his  heart,  although  at  that  moment 


66  THE  NEW  LAND 

he  never  dreamed  how  during  the  darkest  days  of  the 
Revolution  he  would  be  allowed  to  labor  and  serve  in 
Philadelphia  until  he  should  return  to  New  York  in 
triumph  to  witness  the  inauguration  of  George  Wash 
ington  as  president  of  the  United  States. 

At  a  word  from  the  minister,  the  Sham  mas  (sex 
ton)  and  several  members  of  the  congregation  quietly 
removed  the  velvet  curtains  from  the  Ark,  taking  the 
silver  pointer,  the  Ner  Tamid  (perpetual  light),  all 
the  sacred  symbols  which  had  made  their  worship 
beautiful  for  Sabbath  after  Sabbath  during  the  years 
of  security  and  peace.  The  congregation  sat  motion 
less,  like  people  in  a  dream.  Laying  the  Torah  aside, 
Mr.  Seixas  came  forward,  his  hands  raised  in  blessing. 
His  voice  was  tremulous  with  tears  as  he  spoke : 
"Yevorekhekha  Adonai  zue-yishm'rekha.  Yaer  Ado 
nai  panov  eilekha  voi'chunekha.  Yisa  Adonai  panov 
eilekha  weyasem  lekha  shalom."  (The  Lord  bless 
thee  and  keep  thee.  The  Lord  make  His  face  to 
shine  upon  thee  and  be  gracious  unto  thee.  The  Lord 
lift  up  His  countenance  upon  thee  and  give  thee 
peace.) 

Then,  the  Scroll  again  close  to  his  heart,  he  passed 
among  the  silent  worshippers  out  into  the  warm 
September  sunshine. 

One  by  one  the  people  followed  him  as  he  stood 
before  the  synagogue  where  he  had  hoped  to  serve 
so  many  useful  years.  His  face  was  grave,  but  his 
voice  was  firm,  his  bearing  unafraid.  His  young 
wife,  Elkallah,  stood  proudly  beside  him.  Though 
threatened  with  exile,  she  held  her  head  like  a  queen. 
From  the  synagogue  came  old  Mistress  Phillips,  lean- 


THE  LAST  SERVICE  67 

ing  upon  David's  arm.  "We  will  miss  you  sorely, 
Mr.  Seixas,"  she  said,  sadly,  "both  as  rabbi  and  as 
neighbor.  I — ah,  I  am  too  old  to  leave  the  city 
where  I  was  born.  But  perhaps  I  will  send  David  to 
his  cousins  in  Philadelphia." 

"But  I  won't  stay  there,"  cried  the  boy,  his  cheeks 
flaming  with  excitement.  "I'm  going  to  be  a  soldier 
— just  like  the  Maccabees/'  He  raised  flashing  eyes 
to  his  teacher's  face  and  something  that  he  saw  there 
made  the  happiness  die  out  of  his  own.  Boy  that  he 
was,  he  realized  the  ache  in  the  rabbi's  heart  at 
leaving  his  work  and  his  friends  behind  him. 

"I'm  sorry  you  have  to  go,  Mr.  Seixas,"  he  said 
simply. 

The  young  minister  turned  his  somber  eyes  back 
toward  the  synagogue  which  he  had  entered  a  year 
before,  his  heart  burning  with  great  hopes  for  the 
future.  Now,  with  the  Torah  in  his  arms,  his  con 
gregation  scattered,  he  felt  himself  a  fugitive  on  the 
face  of  the  earth.  He  looked  about  him  at  the  older 
folk  like  Mistress  Phillips  whose  dying  bedside  he 
might  never  comfort,  at  the  little  children  he  could 
no  longer  teach.  Lastly  he  looked  down  into  the 
tearful  eyes  of  his  young  bride — a  bride  of  a  year, 
with  exile  and  hardship  before  her.  Then  he 
straightened  his  shoulders  and  spoke  bravely. 

"Some  day,"  said  Rabbi  Seixas,  "I  will  return  to 
serve  our  God  in  a  city  that  He  has  made  free." 


THE  GENEROUS  GIVER 

The  Story  of  a  Jewish  Money  Lender  of  the 
Revolution 

Jonas  Schmidt,  one  of  *the  jailors  of  the  Provost, 
the  grim  old  prison  in  New  York,  where  the  British 
had  confined  their  numerous  French  and  American 
prisoners  after  capturing  the  city  from  Washington 
in  1776,  stood  before  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  the  Eng 
lish  commander,  shifting  uneasily  as  he  fumbled  his 
cap  with  his  great,  hairy  hands.  Sir  Henry  looked 
him  over  coldly  with  his  quiet,  keen  eyes  that  cowed 
man  and  horse  alike;  then  he  turned  to  his  com 
panion,  General  Heister,  Commander  of  the  Hes 
sian  mercenaries,  purchased  by  the  British  king  and 
sent  overseas  to  fight  his  battles. 

"We  can  get  nothing  out  of  this  man,"  he  said  in 
a  tone  of  cold  contempt.  "He  is  either  too  stupid — 
or  clever  enough  to  appear  so ! — to  answer  our  ques 
tions."  He  nodded  to  the  embarrassed  jailor.  "You 
may  go  now.  But  remember:  if  escapes  become  too 
numerous,  I  may  find  it  necessary  to  use  the  gallows 
in  the  courtyard  yonder  and  find  another  jailor  for 
my  prison." 

Jonas  bowed  respectfully  and  lost  no  time  in  put 
ting  the  door  between  him  and  Sir  Henry.  Tory 
though  he  was,  the  old  man  hated  the  English  com 
mander  with  all  the  strength  of  his  simple  soul.  He 
had  been  eager  enough  to  secure  the  situation  of 

68 


THE  GENEROUS  GIVER  69 

jailor  at  the  Provost,  never  dreaming  of  the  horrors 
he  might  see  there.  Now,  sickened  with  the  prison 
stenches,  with  the  half-starved  prisoners  wasting  away 
with  fever  and  dying  before  his  eyes,  he  thought 
longingly  of  his  little  farm  up  in  the  hills  where  his 
placid  wife  and  two  stout  daughters  lived  as  peace 
fully  as  though  the  colonists  had  never  rebelled 
against  the  mother  country  and  hardly  knew  that 
the  British  held  New  York.  "Too  stupid  to  answer," 
muttered  the  old  man,  swinging  his  heavy  keys,  as  he 
passed  down  the  prison  corridor.  "But  I  am  wise 
enough  to  hold  my  tongue  when  it  profits  me  nothing 
to  endanger  the  necks  of  better  men  than  Sir  Henry 
Clinton.  Let  him  use  his  own  eyes,  if  he  will;  mine 
will  be  shut  when  good  Mr.  Salomon  chooses  to  walk 
abroad,"  and  he  chuckled  softly  as  he  passed  down 
the  dark,  damp  corridors. 

Sir  Henry's  teeth  clicked  angrily  as  the  door  closed 
behind  the  jailor.  "Well?"  he  demanded  of  the  Hes 
sian  Commander.  "Well,  since  this  man  seems  to 
bear  out  the  reputation  for  honesty  you  gave  him,  it 
seems  that  we  are  on  the  wrong  trail.  Yet  I  mistrust 
this  Haym  Salomon,  though  our  friendly  jailor  de 
clares  that  he  knows  naught  against  him.  It  might 
be  well  to  keep  a  stricter  watch  on  this  Jew  broker 
in  the  future." 

General  Heister  nodded  emphatically.  He  was  far 
too  good  a  diplomat  to  quarrel  with  Sir  Henry  or  to 
waste  breath  defending  a  man  whom  the  Englishman 
mistrusted.  "I  only  know  that  he  is  a  man  of  rare 
parts,"  he  said,  "a  man  who  has  traveled  much  be 
fore  coming  to  America  and  has  become  versed  in 


70  THE  NEW  LAND 

many  tongues.  That  is  why,  when  I  found  him  among 
the  captured  Americans  two  years  ago,  I  deemed  it 
better  to  use  him  and  his  talents  rather  than  con 
fine  him  with  the  others  to  rot  and  die  of  the  prison 
fevers.  So  I  have  allowed  him  greater  freedom  than 
the  other  prisoners  and  found  a  place  for  him  in  the 
commissariat  department  where  his  knowledge  of 
tongues  and  his  Hebrew  shrewdness  have  proved  of 
great  value  to  me." 

Sir  Henry  gave  a  short  laugh.  "That  Hebrew 
shrewdness  of  your  learned  friend  may  have  proved 
of  equal  value  to  several  of  the  French  and  Ameri 
can  lads  who  have  lately  escaped  from  our  prison. 
No,  do  not  remove  him — just  yet.  Give  the  rogue  a 
long  enough  rope  and  he  may  find  it  dangling  around 
his  own  neck  on  the  scaffold  out  yonder."  He  turned 
to  the  sheaf  of  papers  before  him,  pushing  back  his 
fine  lace  ruffles.  "Enough  of  Haym  Salomon.  He 
will  be  my  care  hereafter.  Now  go  over  these  lists 
with  me,  Heister,"  and  he  began  to  turn  the  closely 
written  sheets  with  his  long,  nervous  fingers. 

At  that  moment  Jonas,  the  jailor,  was  talking  in 
low,  excited  tones  to  a  man  he  had  stopped  in  one 
of  the  prison  corridors,  a  grave-faced  man  with 
shrewd  eyes  and  a  tender  mouth  which  smiled  now 
at  the  other's  earnestness. 

"I  can  only  warn  you,  Mr.  Salomon,"  repeated  the 
little  jailor,  "that  Sir  Henry  is  watching  you  as  a 
chicken  hawk  watches  a  tender  pullet.  Many  a  time 
have  I  lost  a  choice  fowl  through  the  appetite  of 
those  accursed  thieves,"  he  added,  half  to  himself,  as 
his  mind  wandered  back  to  his  quiet  farm.  Then, 


THE  GENEROUS  GIVER  71 

pulling  himself  back  to  the  present:  "I  know  that 
many  things  go  on  in  this  prison  which — which  might 
not  suit  the  pleasure  of  his  majesty  over  seas,  but," 
with  a  shrewd  chuckle,  "I  cannot  be  every  place  and 
if  a  lad  or  two  does  escape — well,  may  the  dear  God 
be  as  gracious  to  my  one  boy  should  he  fall  into  the 
hands  of  your  George  Washington  and  his  rebels. 
But,  Mr.  Salomon,"  detaining  the  quiet  man  in  the 
black  coat  who  was  about  to  pass  on,  "do  not  take 
too  many  risks  just  now.  Do  not  allow  your  kind 
heart  to  lead  you  into  danger.  For  if  your  are  dis 
covered  being — ah — too  kind  to  some  of  our  pris 
oners,  I  cannot  save  you  from  Sir  Henry.  Promise 
me,"  laying  one  of  his  great,  red  hands  on  the  other's 
arm,  "promise  me,  you  will  attempt  no  more  'prison 
deliveries'  until  his  suspicions  are  quieted." 

Haym  Salomon  shook  his  head.  "I  am  sorry  to 
cause  you  anxiety,  my  friend,"  he  answered,  kindly, 
"for  you  have  been  a  good  friend  to  me.  And  I 
will  try  to  be  careful — if  I  can.  But  first  there  is 
a  promise  I  must  redeem.  When  that  debt  is  paid, 
I  will  try  to  behave  so  discreetly  that  even  Sir  Henry 
Clinton  will  own  his  suspicions  of  me  unfounded." 

"A  debt  to  be  paid!"  The  jailor  looked  puzzled. 
"Why,  you  are  one  of  the  richest  brokers  in  New 
York.  If  you  owe  any  money,  give  me  a  word  to 
your  wife  and  I  will  see  that  the  debt  is  discharged 
and  your  mind  at  rest." 

Salomon  shook  his  head,  smilingly.  "It  is  a  debt 
money  cannot  pay,"  he  answered.  "I  have  pledged 
my  word  and  that  has  never  been  broken,  nor  can  I 
break  it  now."  He  passed  on  and  the  jailor  looked 


72  THE  NEW  LAND 

after  him,  a  look  of  mingled  respect  and  affection  on 
his  fat,  stupid  face. 

A  place  of  horror  even  to  a  well  man,  the  old 
Provost  meant  unspeakable  tortures  to  a  youth  slowly 
recovering  from  prison  fever.  Young  Louis  di  Ver- 
non,  lying  upon  the  dirty  wooden  floor,  faint  from  the 
fever  and  sick  for  home,  turned  longing  eyes  toward 
the  grated  door  which  had  not  swung  open  since 
Jonas  had  entered  with  his  breakfast  of  bread  and 
water  for  the  prisoners.  But  Haym  Salomon  had 
promised  to  come  later  in  the  day  and  the  boy  waited 
confidently,  for  like  many  others  he  trusted  the  quiet 
man  with  the  shrewd  eyes  and  tender  mouth. 

At  last  the  door  opened  and  Jonas  enter  the  room, 
wooden  bowls  of  a  sticky,  floury  substance  he  called 
"gruel"  on  his  tray.  He  passed  between  the  men, 
leaving  his  bowls  besides  them  on  the  floor.  When 
they  complained  of  thirst,  he  stopped  for  a  moment 
to  ladle  out  a  dipperful  of  water  from  the  wooden 
pail  he  carried  upon  his  left  arm,  while  now  and  then 
he  stopped  to  hear  some  complaint  of  a  weary  man, 
to  promise  aid  or  seek  to  jest  away  the  prisoner's 
melancholy. 

"The  broth  too  salt?"  he  repeated,  gravely.  "How 
can  that  be  when  one  of  your  rebel  friends  serves 
behind  the  soup  kettle  this  month?  Now  if  a  poor 
Hessian  or  loyal  Englishman  like  myself  were  cook, 
you  might  have  reason  to  complain  that  he  spitefully 
over-seasoned  your  victuals.  Or  is  it  that  the  cook 
ing  of  your  rebels  is  as  evil  as  your  politics?"  And 
again:  "Too  crowded,  eh?  Well,  some  folks  are 
never  satisfied  and  you'd  be  among  the  growlers,  my 


THE  GENEROUS  GIVER  73 

friend,  if  you  slept  on  down  and  fine  linen.  Why 
among  the  well  prisoners,  'tis  so  cramped  for  space 
that  when  their  bones  ache  from  the  floor  at  night 
and  they  would  turn,  they  find  themselves  wedged  in 
so  tight  that  not  a  man  can  budge  till  I  give  the  order, 
'Left,  Right!'  when  they  turn  in  a  solid  body  and 
ease  their  weary  sides.  And  you,  who  sleep  in  what 
they  would  consider  a  palace,  poor  souls,  call  your 
self  suffering  for  room." 

He  had  reached  Louis  by  this  time  and  his  quick 
eye  noted  how  flushed  the  lad  was,  while  his  eager 
glance  kept  turning  toward  the  grated  door.  With  an 
impatient  gesture  the  Frenchman  pushed  away  the 
bowl  the  jailor  set  beside  him.  "I  am  sick  of  prison 
fare,"  he  cried,  hotly.  "When  I  left  France  to  fol 
low  Lafayette  I  never  dreamed  that  I  might  die  of 
prison  fever  in  a  hole  like  this.  Take  away  your 
food;  the  sooner  I  starve,  the  sooner  I  am  free." 

Jonas  looked  him  over  sympathetically,  but  could 
say  nothing  of  comfort;  instead  he  pushed  the  bowl 
toward  him  again,  thinking,  perhaps,  the  dinner 
might  do  something  to  restore  the  boy's  peace  of 
mind.  But  the  prisoner  again  shoved  him  aside  and 
sat  up,  his  eyes  straining  toward  the  grated  door, 
where  some  one  now  rattled  the  bars. 

"Let  me  in,  friend  Jonas,"  said  the  voice  of  Haym 
Salomon,  "and  I  promise  not  to  steal  any  of  the  good 
dinner  you  have  brought  your  fledglings." 

The  heartsick  prisoners  smiled  at  the  poor  jest  and 
more  than  one  man  turned  eagerly  as  Jonas  unlocked 
the  door  and  admitted  the  Jewish  broker,  a  prisoner 
like  themselves,  yet  bringing  with  him  the  free  air 


74  THE  NEW  LAND 

of  the  outside  world.  Haym  passed  from  one  to 
the  other,  with  here  a  smile,  there  a  word  of  com 
fort  or  bit  of  quaint  philosophy.  Into  the  fever-hot 
hands  of  one  flaxen-haired  farmer,  lad  lying  half  de 
lirious  and  dreaming  of  home,  he  dropped  a  few 
flowers  plucked  in  the  prison  yard  that  morning;  to 
a  lonely,  discouraged  Frenchman  he  spoke  in  his  own 
tongue,  uttering  a  homely  proverb  that  caused  the 
homesick  foreigner  to  laugh  back  into  his  smiling 
face.  At  last  he  came  to  Louis,  and,  with  a  nod 
toward  the  puzzled  Jonas,  lifted  the  bowl  of  soup 
and  placed  it  to  the  boy's  lips. 

"Drink,"  he  commanded  gently,  but  gravely.  "You 
must  eat  and  drink  and  grow  strong  or  you  will  not 
be  able  to  go  back  to  your  sweetheart  in  France.  I 
have  not  forgotten  my  promise  to  write  to  her  for 
you,  but  first  you  must  please  me  and  eat.  And,  now, 
Jonas,  some  of  your  good  clear  water — as  sparkling 
as  the  wines  of  sunny  France.  Did  I  ever  tell  you, 
Louis,  my  lad,  of  the  little  inn  where  I  ate  my  first 
meal  in  your  country  and  how  the  good  landlord 
laughed  at  my  blunders,  for  then  I  knew  little  of  your 
tongue?" 

Never  taking  his  eyes  from  his  friend's  face,  the 
boy  obediently  ate  and  drank  and  Jonas  looked  on, 
well  satisfied.  He  knew  that  his  masters  did  not 
concern  themselves  whether  the  prisoners  starved  or 
not;  yet,  somehow,  it  made  him  uncomfortable  at 
times  to  see  boys  no  older  than  his  own  son  wasting 
away  before  his  eyes.  He  wondered  whether  he 
was  hardy  enough  to  be  an  efficient  jailor. 

Something  of  his  thoughts  must  have  been  written 


75 

upon  his  broad,  red  face,  for  Salomon  looking  up 
quickly,  nodded  as  though  he  understood.  "Louis  is 
a  good  lad,  Jonas,"  he  said,  taking  out  his  writing 
material  and  spreading  it  upon  his  knees.  "There 
are  many  good  lads  here — boys  like  your  boy  who 
chooses  to  serve  the  king  instead  of  the  colonies. 
My  little  one  is  not  yet  old  enough  for  the  army; 
such  a  tiny  mite,  Louis! — but  if  he  were,  I  should 
find  it  hard  not  to  hate  the  man  who  caged  him  here 
behind  bars  like  a  beast  and  kept  him  stiffling  in  the 
prison  darkness.  You  are  too  tender  a  man  for  such 
devil's  work,  friend  Jonas.  Ploughing  and  milking 
your  peaceful  cows  might  bring  you  less  gold,  but 
there  would  be  no  heart  ache  when  the  day's  work 
was  over." 

Jonas  scowled  heavily.  Rumors  had  reached  him 
before  of  certain  English  sympathizers  like  himself 
who  had  found  their  work  distasteful  after  a  quiet 
talk  with  Salomon  and  had  suddenly  left  their  posts, 
declaring  that  they  no  longer  desired  to  serve  the 
king  and  his  cause.  To  be  sure,  he,  Jonas  Schmidt, 
would  remain  a  loyal  servant  to  King  George  until 
the  end  of  his  days,  and  yet — why,  should  this  quiet 
man  prod  his  sleeping  soul  with  disquieting  thoughts? 

"And  now,"  Haym  spoke  briskly  to  the  young 
Frenchman,  "we  will  write  to  your  sweetheart  and 
tell  her  how  well  you  are  getting  on  and  that  as 
soon  as  the  wound  in  your  hand  is  healed  you  will 
write  to  her  again."  His  pen  raced  over  the  paper. 
"Perhaps  you  will  care  to  look  it  over  and  correct 
my  spelling  which  is  even  worse  in  French  than  in 
English,"  and  he  handed  the  sheet  covered  with 


•• 


76  THE  NEW  LAND 

French  characters  to  Louis.  The  boy  took  it  lan 
guidly  enough,  but  his  weary  eyes  brightened  as  he 
read: 

"Do  not  show  any  surprise,  but  I  must  communi 
cate  with  you  in  this  way  lest  there  be  spies  among 
the  prisoners  who  would  betray  us.  Your  are  to 
grow  weaker  and  tomorrow  morning  the  jail  phy 
sician,  whom  I  have  bribed,  will  find  that  you  have 
died  in  the  night.  The  grave  digger  will  turn  your 
body  over  to  friends  of  the  cause  who  will  help  you  to 
leave  New  York  and  reach  the  Colonials  in  safety. 
If  I  am  ever  free  and  you  need  a  friend,  call  upon 
me  without  reserve." 

The  boy,  his  eyes  filled  with  sudden  tears,  reached 
out  and  would  have  pressed  Salomon's  hand,  but  the 
latter  drew  back  laughingly.  "Why  such  gratitude 
over  a  mere  letter  which  has  taken  me  but  a  moment 
to  pen?"  he  said  lightly,  speaking  loudly  enough  to 
be  heard  by  those  about  him.  He  folded  the  sheet 
carefully,  placing  it  in  his  breast;  as  he  did  so,  he 
felt  the  eyes  of  a  prisoner  upon  him;  a  newcomer 
who  looked  him  over  carefully;  then  turned  away 
with  an  indifference  that  Haym  believed  was  wholly 
feigned.  But  if  Salomon  felt  that  the  man  was  an 
informer  he  gave  no  sign.  "Now  I  must  about  my 
work,"  he  told  Louis.  "I  will  see  that  your  missive 
leaves  by  the  next  ship.  So  eat,  my  little  friend,  grow 
fat,  and  cease  to  worry.  Au  revoir" 

"Au  revoir,"  answered  Louis,  with  equal  lightness. 
"I  know  my  betrothed  will  rejoice  to  see  your  letter." 


THE  GENEROUS  GIVER  77 

In  one  of  the  darkest  cells  of  the  old  Provost  sat 
Haym  Salomon  with  chains  about  his  wrists  and 
angles.  From  the  courtyard  he  could  hear  the  merry 
laughter  of  the  British  soldiers  and  their  Hessian 
comrades  as  they  smoked  and  jested  after  their  even 
ing  meal.  Like  true  soldiers,  they  took  it  all  in  a 
day's  work  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  lack  of  spirits 
among  them  even  if  they  were  assigned  the  grim 
task  of  hanging  a  man  upon  the  morrow.  And  Haym 
Salomon,  being  condemned  to  death  by  a  military 
court,  smiled  his  grave,  gentle  smile  to  hear  their 
mirth.  He  had  played  the  game  of  chance  and  he 
had  lost,  so  why  should  he  complain? 

Down  the  damp  corridor  came  the  shuffling  of  feet 
and  a  moment  later  Jonas  Schmidt  entered,  a  lantern 
in  one  hand,  a  straw  basket  on  his  arm.  "Your  wife 
has  sent  you  something  for  your  evening  meal,"  he 
said  gruffly,  placing  the  basket  on  the  bench  beside 
the  condemned  man.  He  spoke  loudly  as  he  noticed 
a  red-coated  Briton  loitering  at  the  end  of  the  pas 
sage.  "Faith,  she  has  sent  you  enough  to  feed  a 
regiment.  But  women  are  ever  foolish.  My  own 
wife  is  waiting  for  me  below.  She  has  come  all  the 
way  to  New  York  merely  for  advice  about  our  milch 
heifer  and  traveled  weighted  down  with  cakes  and 
eggs  and  butter — which  all  her  careful  packing  could 
not  shield  enough  from  the  August  sun,  and  it  has 
oozed  through  her  finest  linen  napkin  and  she  is 
sorely  grieved.  But  not  an  egg  is  broken  and  to 
morrow  Sir  Henry  Clinton  will  eat  eggs  laid  by  loyal 
Tory  hens  for  his  breakfast  with  my  compliments." 

Haym  glanced  sharply  at  his  old  friend  who  sel- 


78  THE  NEW  LAND 

dom  indulged  in  such  lengthy  speech.  He  was  abuot 
to  the  basket,  touched  at  his  poor  wife's  thoughtful- 
ness,  when  the  jailor  gave  a  warning  gesture  and  tip 
toed  to  the  door.  Then  he  came  back,  nodding,  well 
pleased  at  his  own  craft. 

"The  lobster  has  disappeared,"  he  whispered.  "I 
thought  that  my  chatter  would  mislead  him.  But  we 
have  not  a  minute  to  lose.  Open  the  basket  and  dress 
quickly  in  the  woman's  raiment  you  find  there." 
Then,  as  Haym  stared  at  him  bewildered,  "Dress,  I 
say,"  and  he  pulled  from  the  basket  a  calico  dress, 
tightly  rolled,  a  gay  shawl  and  a  woman's  deep  straw 
bonnet.  "When  you  were  pronounced  guilty — and 
every  man  in  New  York  knew  what  the  outcome  of 
your  trial  would  be — I  said  that  I  for  one  would  not 
have  your  blood  upon  my  hands.  No,  no,  Haym  Sal 
omon.  You  may  be  an  infidel  Jew,  but  you  are  a  bet 
ter  Christian  than  all  who  worship  in  Trinity  Church 
every  Sabbath.  By  the  will  of  God,  my  son  passed 
through  New  York  on  his  way  home  for  a  moment's 
visit  with  his  mother.  I  entrusted  him  with  a  letter  I 
dared  not  send  through  the  post,  telling  her  to  come 
to  me  at  once,  bringing  a  set  of  garments  exactly  like 
those  she  herself  would  wear."  He  chuckled.  "She 
came,  thinking  me  quite  mad,  but  obeying  me  as  is 
her  habit.  In  a  moment,  I  had  told  her  all.  She  left 
the  extra  clothes  in  that  basket  with  me  and  now 
waits  us  beyond  the  courtyard,  where  Sir  Henry 
and  his  friends  will  find  an  empty  scaffold  tomor 
row." 

Thus  the  little  jailor,  unlocking  Haym's  chains  as 
he  spoke. 


THE  GENEROUS  GIVER  79 

"But  I  do  not  understand — "  Haym  was  still  be 
wildered,  after  his  long  hours  of  torturing  doubt 
and  uncertainty — "You  never  spoke  to  me  of  escap- 
ing." 

"I  dared  not  raise  your  hopes  too  high.  What  if 
Sir  Henry  decided  I  was  not  so  stupid  after  all  and 
put  another  jailor  in  my  place?  But  now  all  is 
ready.  The  sentinels  below  have  seen  my  wife  visit 
me  today  and  I  took  pains  to  let  them  believe  she 
was  dining  in  my  room,  whereas  she  slipped  away 
when  the  guard  was  being  changed.  Now  when  you 
leave  the  prison  with  me,  I  have  but  to  say  that  I 
am  taking  my  good  dame  to  the  stage  coach."  Again 
he  chuckled,  half  forcing  Salomon  into  the  calico 
dress.  "Instead,  we  will  meet  her  at  the  appointed 
place,  you  will  slip  off  these  flounces — she  cautioned 
me  that  you  should  not  tread  upon  them  and  tear 
them  down,  as  she  loves  this  frock  dearly, — and  seek 
your  good  friend,  General  McDougall,  who  com 
mands  the  rebel  forces  in  our  neighborhood  and 
will  grant  you  protection,  while  my  wife  and  I  will 
hurry  back  to  our  little  farm." 

"But  your  position  here — "  Haym  fumbled  with 
the  unfamiliar  buttons  of  the  dress. 

"I  do  not  care  to  remain  here  and  have  Sir  Henry 
Clinton  try  me  in  his  court,"  answered  the  other, 
simply.  "So  a  week  ago  I  handed  in  my  resigna 
tion — my  rheumatism  cannot  endure  this  prison 
dampness — my  wife  insists  that  unless  I  come  home 
for  the  harvest,  she  will  come  to  fetch  me — and 
other  strong  proofs  that  I  must  leave  the  dear  old 
Provost.  And,  fortunately,  my  friend,  the  noble  gen- 


80  THE  NEW  LAND 

tleman  who  secured  this  post  for  me  has  fallen  in 
battle,  and  no  one  else  knows  where  to  look  for 
the  stupid  jailor  who  helped  Haym  Salomon  to 
escape." 

"But,  my  friend,  I  cannot  allow  you  to  take  such 
a  risk  for  me,"  protested  Salomon.  "And  even  if  you 
are  not  punished — do  you  care  to  give  up  your  post 
for  my  sake?" 

"I,  too,  have  grown  tired  of  this  devil's  business," 
answered  the  little  jailor.  "Even  if  you  were  to 
die  tomorrow,  I  should  give  it  up  and  go  back  to 
my  little  farm  where  I  might  feel  myself  an  honest 
man  again." 

Suddenly  Haym  sat  down  upon  the  bench,  his 
mouth  grim  and  stubborn.  "I  will  not  go.  My  name 
has  always  been  spotless.  But  if  I  escape,  there  may 
be  some  who  will  believe  that  the  charges  brought 
against  me  are  true,  that  I  have  acted  as  a  secret 
agent  for  General  Washington,  endeavoring  to  burn 
the  British  warships  and  warehouses  at  his  instiga 
tion.  Whereas  you  know  that  my  one  crime  was 
helping  those  few  poor  lads  escape  from  their  tor 
ture." 

"Will  you  stay  here  and  argue  until  morning  when 
the  guards  will  take  you  below  to  let  you  swing 
for  your  folly!"  muttered  Jonas,  now  thoroughly 
exasperated.  "You  and  I  and  the  world  know  that 
not  even  Sir  Henry  himself  believes  the  charges 
brought  against  you  at  your  trial.  It  was  only  when 
that  young  Frenchman  escaped  two  months  ago  and 
one  of  Sir  Henry's  ready  spies  betrayed  you,  that 
you  were  clapped  into  his  cell  to  face  charges  in  his 


THE  GENEROUS  GIVER  81 

«*.*  ' 

court.  I  warned  you  then  how  it  would  be  and 
you  would  not  heed  my  words.  Now  let  me  save 
you  before  it  is  too  late." 

"But  my  wife  and  little  son,"  murmured  Salomon, 
as  the  other  adjusted  the  heavy  shawl  about  his 
shoulders.  "Who  will  care  for  them?" 

"You  can  send  for  them  when  you  have  found 
shelter.  And  if  you  stay  and  are  hanged,  who  will 
protect  them?"  He  pushed  the  large  bonnet  upon 
Salomon's  head,  nodding  with  satisfaction  to  see  how 
it  concealed  his  face.  "Now,  remember,  say  noth 
ing  and  try  to  walk  slowly — no,  no,  shorter  steps! 
And  put  the  basket  on  your  arm."  He  stepped  back 
to  admire  the  result  of  his  scheming.  "Mr.  Salo 
mon,"  he  said,  seriously,  "if  I  did  not  know  that 
my  good  wife  was  waiting  for  me  outside  I  would 
swear  she  stood  before  me.  Come,  take  my  arm, — 
remember,  walk  slowly — "  and  the  two  passed  out 
into  the  sultry  August  night. 


The  Revolutionary  War  was  over,  and  young 
Louis  di  Vernon,  still  very  much  of  a  boy  despite 
the  down  upon  his  lip  and  the  manly  assurance 
achieved  by  almost  seven  years  hard  soldiering, 
leaned  back  in  the  shabby  arm  chair  and  looked  ques- 
tioningly  at  his  host  across  the  table.  Since  his  escape 
from  the  old  Provost,  he  had  often  heard  tales  of 
Haym  Salomon's  great  wealth,  the  magnificent  sums 
he  had  lent  the  government,  his  generosity  toward 
the  nation's  unpaid  representatives,  especially  his 


82  THE  NEW  LAND 

young  friend  Madison.  And  yet  this  man  of  almost 
fabulous  wealth,  this  patriot  who  with  his  business 
partner,  Robert  Morris,  had  made  it  possible  to  feed 
and  clothe  Washington's  starving  and  naked  soldiers, 
this  financier  who  had  negotiated  loans  with  Holland 
and  France,  now  sat  before  him,  meanly  dressed,  his 
brows  wrinkled  with  care,  his  drooping  shoulders 
too  expressive  of  defeat  for  one  who  had  helped  his 
country  win  a  glorious  victory. 

"It  is  good  to  see  you  again,"  said  Haym,  slow 
ly.  "I  have  not  forgotten  you,  but  I  thought  you 
might  have  forgotten  me."  He  coughed,  a  hard, 
dry  cough,  leaning  his  fast  graying  head  upon  his 
hand. 

"We  are  used  to  having  our  friends  forget  us," 
murmured  his  wife,  who  sat  sewing  beside  the  lamp. 
She  was  a  brisk,  dark-haired  woman,  a  member  of 
the  famous  Franks  family  which  had  served  the  coun 
try  so  well  during  the  dark  days  of  the  Revolution. 
"Of  the  many  youths  my  husband  aided  in  prison, 
you  are  the  first  one  who  came  to  thank  him  for  his 
service." 

"Nay,  Rachel,"  her  husband  chided  her  gently. 
"I  did  not  seek  for  thanks.  And  it  was  not  those 
brave  soldiers  I  tried  to  serve,  but  freedom."  His 
tired  eyes  glowed  with  a  warm  light  as  he  turned 
to  Louis.  "I  was  born  in  unhappy  Poland,  so  it 
is  not  strange  that  I  loved  freedom  with  all  my  heart 
and  with  all  my  soul.  And  when  I  was  in  prison, 
no  longer  free  to  serve  this  country  which  had  wel 
comed  me  so  heartily,  I  thanked  God  that  I  was 
permitted  to  aid  those  who  were  fighting  her  battles 


THE  GENEROUS  GIVER  83 

and  seeking  to  make  her  free  before  the  world." 

"And  after  he  escaped  here  to  Philadelphia,"  add 
ed  his  wife,  a  note  of  pride  in  her  voice,  "he  fought 
for  the  colonies  just  as  surely  as  Colonel  Franks 
upon  the  battlefield.  You  have  heard  of  the  vast 
sums  of  money  he  lent  the  bankrupt  government — 
and  without  a  bit  of  security,  too." 

Haym  held  up  his  hand  in  protest.  "What  secur 
ity  did  I  need?  If  I  could  not  trust  my  country, 
whom  should  I  trust?"  he  asked  her  in  quiet  sin 
cerity. 

She  bent  her  dark  head  over  the  little  garment 
she  was  mending,  her  lips  curved  a  bit  scornfully. 
"I  try  not  to  be  impatient.  I  know  that  even  though 
peace  has  come,  commerce  is  still  languishing;  that  it 
will  take  many,  many  months  for  the  government 
to  pay  its  debts.  Yet  it  hurts  me  to  see  you  so  wor 
ried,  so  hampered  because  you  lack  capital  to  go 
on  with  your  business."  Her  dark  eyes  sparkled  with 
indignation.  "You  are  only  forty-five,  Haym,"  she 
declared,  almost  fiercely,  "and  yet  your  many  cares 
make  you  seem  almost  an  old  man." 

"I  am  glad  to  have  been  able  to  give  my  youth 
to  my  country,"  he  answered.  Then,  turning  to 
Louis  di  Vernon:  "Do  not  think  my  wife  too  bit 
ter?  She  has  had  sore  trials,"  and  he  gently  patted 
her  work-worn  hand.  "I  know  it  is  not  for  her 
self  she  grieves,  but  she  is  troubled  for  me  and  for 
our  little  ones.  And,  in  truth,  things  have  grown 
dark  for  us  of  late.  My  business  has  suffered  dur 
ing  the  war  and  I  was  obliged  to  neglect  it  while 
I  attended  to  affairs  of  state.  And  now  that  peace 


84  THE  NEW  LAND 

has  come  at  last,  I  find  that  my  old  good  fortune  has 
deserted  me." 

"If  you  had  only  kept  the  remnant  of  your  for 
tune,"  sighed  his  wife,  "the  sixty-four  thousand  dol 
lars  you  lent  to  Mr.  Morris  for  his  bank  would  have 
tided  us  over  these  evil  times." 

"But  I  could  not  allow  the  National  Bank  to  fail," 
protested  Salomon.  "Somehow,"  turning  to  his 
guest,  "I  have  grown  like  the  old  philosopher  of 
my  people  who  was  so  unfortunate  that  he  once  de 
clared  that  if  he  took  to  making  shoes  everyone 
would  go  barefoot,  if  he  became  a  shroud  maker, 
no  one  would  die."  He  laughed  softly,  then  grew 
suddenly  grave.  "The  merchants  to  whom  I  have 
extended  credit  have  failed.  There  have  been  losses 
at  sea — "  he  shrugged,  and  became  silent,  his  eyes 
grown  strangely  large  in  his  thin  white  face,  seeming 
to  look  into  the  far  future.  "Mr.  Madison  and 
my  other  friends  will  not  forget  me,"  he  said  slowly, 
"and  my  country  in  whose  keeping  I  may  have  to 
leave  my  wife  and  infant  children  before  long,  will 
be  glad  to  repay  her  debt  and  care  for  them."  A 
strange  look  of  peace  swept  over  his  tired  face; 
it  was  well  that  his  dimming  eyes  could  not  see  the 
long  years  during  which  his  country  would  forget 
to  be  grateful  and  to  repay. 

A  feeling  half  of  pity,  half  of  shame  filled  the 
young  man's  heart.  "I — I  am  sorry,"  he  stammered. 

"You  need  not  pity  me."  Salomon  smiled  his  old 
gentle  smile.  "I  have  been  given  a  chance  to  serve 
the  cause  of  freedom  with  my  fortune;  I  have  been 
of  service  to  my  own  people,  too,  the  Hebrews  of 


THE  GENEROUS  GIVER  85 

Philadelphia,  and  it  gladdens  my  heart  to  believe  that 
my  children's  children  will  worship  the  God  of  our 
fathers  here  in  this  place  in  the  synagogue  I  have 
helped  to  build.  I  do  not  think  my  life  has  been 
such  a  very  great  failure  after  all,"  he  ended,  naive 
ly.  "And  it  is  good  to  know  that  what  I  have  done 
has  borne  fruit.  That  is  why  your  coming  here 
tonight  to  thank  me  has  heartened  me  more  than 
news  of  the  safe  arrival  of  those  missing  merchant- 
ships  at  port." 

Louis  arose,  his  honest  face  red  with  shame.  "I 
did  not  want  to  hurt  you,"  he  said,  speaking  with 
difficulty.  "When  I  came  here  tonight  and  you  both 
thought  it  was  just  to  thank  you  before  I  set  sail 
for  France,  I  was  ashamed  to  tell  you  the  reason  of 
my  visit  For  I  am  like  the  others;  I  would  not 
have  come  to  thank  you  for  favors  past;  not  know 
ing  of  your  misfortune,  I  only  came  to  ask  new  boun 
ties  ;  that  is  why  I  am  ashamed." 

"Then  why  do  you  tell  me  now?"  Salomon's  voice 
had  grown  very  tired.  "I  should  have  liked  to  be 
lieve  that  you  were  not  here  for  favors." 

"I  could  not  go  away  and  have  you  believe  a  lie. 
You  are  too  honest  a  man  to  lie  to,  Mr.  Salomon. 
Are  you  sorry  I  told  the  truth?" 

"No.  That  takes  the  pain  away."  A  long  silence 
while  the  January  wind  howled  outside.  At  last 
Haym  spoke.  "What  did  you  wish  of  me — though 
now  I  may  be  unable  to  grant  it." 

"I  leave  shortly  for  France,"  answered  the  young 
man,  flushed  beneath  the  other's  quiet  gaze.  "Al 
though  I  return  a  poor  man,  my  betrothed  has  waited 


86  THE  NEW  LAND 

f«-»r  me  and  I  desired  to  buy  a  bit  of  land  for  my 
own  that  we  might  become  householders  as  our  par- 
er»ts  were  before  us.  I  knew  you  would  trust  me 
and  that  is  why  I  came  to  you,  my  one  friend  in 
America." 

"Now  I  am  truly  sorry  for  my  losses,"  answered 
Salomon.  "If  I  could  only  help  you — but,  perhaps, 
Mr.  Morris — yes,  I  will  give  you  a  note  to  him, 
and  though  I  am  not  prosperous  today,  he  will  be 
willing  to  trust  me  as  your  security." 

But  Louis  di  Vernon  shook  his  head.  "I  cannot 
think  of  it,"  he  answered,  stubbornly.  "Do  not  in 
sist,  or  I  shall  be  sorry  that  I  told  you  of  my  de 
sires.  Please  have  this  visit  as  it  should  have  been; 
to  thank  you  for  your  great  kindness  to  me;  not  to 
ask  more  favors." 

uAs  you  will,"  answered  Haym  with  a  smile. 
"But  you  must  not  leave  us  without  a  little  token 
for  your  betrothed."  Going  to  the  mantel  piece, 
he  took  down  a  silver  cup,  quaintly  carved,  and 
slipped  it  into  the  young  man's  unwilling  hand. 
"Nay,  lad,  take  it,  it  is  all  I  can  give  you — this  and 
my  blessing  for  your  future."  Again  the  wind  shook 
the  window  pane.  "It  is  a  bitter  night  outside.  We 
have  no  guest  chamber,  but  if  you  care  to  sleep  be 
side  our  fire " 

"Nay,  after  Valley  Forge  a  soldier  is  not  afraid 
of  the  storm,"  laughed  the  Frenchman.  "And  I 
cannot  thank  you  for  this — and  all  your  kindness. 
But  she  is  a  woman  and  when  I  tell  my  Mairie,  she 
will  write  you  all  the  love  and  gratitude  that  is  in 
our  hearts."  He  bent  over  Mistress  Salomon's  hand 


THE  GENEROUS  GIVER  87 

with  all  the  courtly  breeding  of  his  race.  "It  is  only 
AU  revoir  tonight,  Madame,  for  I  will  try  to  see  you 
again  before  I  leave  Philadelphia." 

He  gathered  his  cloak  about  him  and  went  out 
into  the  storm,  leaving  Salomon  to  meet  his  wife's 
reproachful  eyes.  "Yes,  I  know,  heart's  dearest,  that 
I  should  not  give  silver  cups  to  beggarly  Frenchmen," 
he  told  her  with  a  whimsical  smile,  "for  who  knows 
when  we  will  have  to  pawn  the  little  that  remains 
of  our  silver.  But  until  then — "  he  shrugged  good- 
naturedly,  and  a  fit  of  coughing  drowned  the  rest. 

Several  days  later  young  Louis  di  Vernon  sat  in 
a  coffee  house,  his  traveling  bag  and  a  bundle  of 
toys  and  goodies  for  the  little  Salomon  children  at 
his  feet.  Over  his  cup  he  read  the  latest  edition 
of  the  "Pennsylvania  Journal  and  Weekly  Adver 
tiser,"  pausing  to  stare  at  a  modest  notice  rucked  in 
an  obscure  corner  of  the  sheet.  He  put  down  his  cup 
untasted  and  read  it  again  with  whitening  lips :  "On 
Thursday  died  Haym  Salomon,  a  broker." 


ACROSS  THE  WATERS 

A  Story  of  the  City  of  Refuge  Planned  by 
Mordecal  Noah. 

The  two  children  stood  hand  in  hand  in  a  cor 
ner  of  Mr.  Mordecai  Noah's  handsome  library  in 
New  York,  both  badly  frightened,  although  the  boy 
tried  hard  to  appear  at  ease  in  his  strange  surround 
ings.  They  still  wore  the  dress  of  their  native  Tunis; 
Hushiel  in  silken  blouse  and  short  black  trousers, 
with  mantle  and  fez  such  as  Mohammedans  wear, 
his  little  sister,  Peninah,  a  quaint  picture  in  her  short 
jacket,  baggy  trousers  and  pointed  cap.  No  wonder 
the  old  family  servant,  who  had  gasped  when  admit 
ting  them,  had  gone  off  to  summon  his  master,  de 
claring  to  himself  that  these  visitors  looked  even 
more  heathenish  than  the  painted  Indians  who  occa 
sionally  called  upon  Mr.  Noah  at  his  Buffalo  home. 

"Do  sit  down,  Peninah,"  suggested  the  boy  in  a 
half-whisper,  too  overawed  by  the  elegant  furnish 
ings  and  long  rows  of  books  to  speak  out  loud.  He 
pointed  to  a  tall,  carved  arm  chair  but  Peninah  shook 
her  head  and  clung  more  tightly  to  his  arm. 

"It's  all  so  strange,"  she  whispered  back,  "just 
like  an  old  tale  Nissim,  the  story  teller,  used  to 
tell  sometimes  at  home — all  of  it,  the  big  ship,  and 
the  many  people  when  we  came  on  shore  in  New 
York  and  this  room — "  with  a  gesture  towards  the 

88 


ACROSS  THE  WATERS  89 

table  on  which  stood  a  tea  service  of  heavy  silver. 
"He  must  be  a  prince  to  have  such  treasures.  Aren't 
you  afraid  to  speak  to  him  when  he  comes  in?" 

'A  man  is  never  afraid,"  answered  twelve-year- 
old  Hussiel,  stoutly.  "He  may  not  remember  me,  but 
I  am  my  father's  son  and  he  will  do  us  kindness 
for  his  sake."  He  stopped  suddenly  as  Mr.  Morde- 
cai  Noah  entered  the  room. 

The  master  of  the  house  was  about  forty,  with 
deep,  kindly  eyes  and  a  heavy  mane  of  black  hair 
brushed  back  from  his  benevolent  forehead.  He 
carried  himself  with  the  dignity  befitting  an  author 
and  statesman  who  was,  perhaps,  the  most  distin 
guished  Jew  in  America  in  1825.  Yet  in  spite  of 
his  touch  of  hauteur  there  was  a  real  kindliness  in 
the  manner  in  which  he  held  out  his  hands  to  the 
strangers  and  bade  them  welcome. 

"You  have  come  a  long  way,"  he  said,  with  a 
quick  glance  at  their  foreign  garb.  "Let  me  make 
you  welcome  to  America."  He  drew  them  to  one 
of  the  carved  settles  he  had  brought  from  England 
and  seated  himself  in  the  great  armchair  before  it, 
smiling  at  the  quaint  picture  little  Peninah  made, 
her  slippered  feet  dangling  high  above  the  floor. 
"And  how  can  I  serve  you?"  he  asked  graciously. 

Hussiel  felt  his  shyness  disappearing  before  the 
great  man's  courtesy.  "We  are  from  Tunis,"  he 
answered,  "and  you  may  remember  me,  though  I  was 
but  a  tiny  lad  when  you  were  the  American  consul 
there  and  visited  my  father  about  ten  years  ago.  My 
father  was  Rabbi  Reuben  Faitusi,"  he  added,  not 
a  little  disappointed  as  the  loved  name  failed  to 


90  THE  NEW  LAND 

awaken  any  memories  in  the  eyes  of  the  man  before 
him. 

"I  met  so  many  rabbis  while  I  was  in  the  East," 
apologized  Mr.  Noah,  "that  the  name  means  noth 
ing  to  me  for  a  moment.  But  if  I  were  to  meet 
your  father  again  I  am  sure  I  should  know  him  at 
once,"  he  ended  politely. 

"My  father  died  six  months  ago,"  answered  the 
boy,  "my  mother  when  she  was  born,"  and  he  nod 
ded  toward  Peninah,  who  sat  clutching  his  sleeve  in 
her  pretty  bashfulness.  "Before  he  died  he  told 
me  how  you  visited  our  house  and  spoke  long  and 
bitterly  of  the  persecution  of  our  brethren  which 
you  had  encountered  through  Europe  and  Africa  on 
your  travels.  My  father  knew  of  what  you  spoke 
only  too  well,  for  the  lot  of  our  people  has  often 
been  a  harsh  one  in  Tunis.  And  we  have  suffered 
for  a  long  time."  He  drew  himself  up  proudly. 
"My  father's  house  are  of  the  Tunsi,  who  some  be 
lieve  have  been  in  the  land  for  centuries — even  be 
fore  the  First  Temple  was  destroyed.  And  he  told 
me  what  it  meant  for  him  to  listen  to  the  words 
of  a  stranger  from)  a  new  land  which  was  a  land  of 
hope  for  our  ancient  people." 

A  satisfied  smile  played  about  Noah's  lips.  "Yes, 
he  was  like  so  many  others,"  he  nodded,  "thirsty  for 
the  message  of  comfort  I  brought  my  brethren  across 
the  seas.  For,  as  I  told  him,  I  dreamed  even  then 
that  this  America  of  mine  would  be  a  Land  of  Prom 
ise  for  the  Jews  over  the  entire  earth  and  that  I 
might  be  permitted  to  be  the  Messiah  to  lead  them 
here." 


ACROSS  THE  WATERS  91 

Hussiel  tried  not  to  look  shocked.  He  had  heard 
too  many  tales  of  the  Messiah",  the  princely  leader 
of  the  House  of  David,  who  would  some  day  ap 
pear  in  all  his  glorious  might  to  restore  the  Chosen 
People  to  their  own  country,  not  to  wonder  how 
even  this  powerful  prince  in  Israel  should  dare  to 
use  his  name  so  lightly.  But  his  eyes  sparkled  at 
the  memories  his  host's  words  had  awakened. 

"My  father  spoke  to  me  of  his  talk  with  you 
many  times,"  he  told  Mr.  Noah,  "and  how  he 
dreamed  that  he  might  come  to  dwell  in  the  city 
of  refuge  you  planned  for  our  people.  And  he  prom 
ised  to  take  me  and  her,"  with  a  gesture  toward 
Peninah,  who  nodded  vigorously.  "But  his  eyes 
closed  before  he  could  behold  our  return.  Year  by 
year  he  had  saved  a  little  to  make  the  journey;  this 
he  gave  me  and  to  it  I  added  my  mite  that  I  had 
laid  aside  from  my  earnings  as  a  mechanic;  then 
I  sold  our  household  goods  and  came  with  Peninah 
to  you  that  we  might  be  among  the  first  to  enter 
your  city,  even  as  our  father  wished  us  to  be." 

A  strange  look  crept  into  Mr.  Noah's  eyes;  a  look 
of  exultation  and  joy;  he  seemed  for  a  moment 
like  a  man  who  sees  a  great  hope  fulfilled  and  is 
glad.  "Your  father  had  the  faith  of  God  in  his 
heart,"  he  said  at  last,  "and  you  two  are  worthy 
of  being  called  his  children.  Sometimes  I  myself 
have  doubted  whether  I  could  forge  my  dream  into 
reality.  But  when  you  come  to  me  with  your  young 
and  fearless  hearts,  trusting  so  in  my  mission,  I 
must  believe  that  I  cannot  fail.  And  you  seem  to 
have  been  sent  here  by  a  miracle.  All  through  the 


92  THE  NEW  LAND 

ten  years  since  I  was  consul  to  Tunis  I  have  planned 
for  a  city  of  refuge  for  our  people.  Perhaps  some 
day  we  will  return  to  Palestine,  but  meanwhile — " 
he  made  a  sweeping  gesture — "meanwhile  the  virgin 
wilderness  of  this  land  awaits  our  people.  Here  we 
will  build  and  plough;  here  we  will  launch  our  trad 
ing  vessels — the  Phoenicians  of  the  New  World." 
He  had  forgotten  his  listeners  and  spoke  as  though 
addressing  a  great  multitude.  "And  others  have 
shared  my  dreams.  My  good  friend,  Samuel  Leg- 
gett,  although  a  Christian,  has  seen  my  vision,  and 
has  aided  me  with  his  sympathy — and  his  gold." 
His  dream-filled  eyes  actually  twinkled  and  now  he 
spoke  simply  with  no  thought  of  a  vast  audience  to 
listen.  "I  am  grateful  for  his  sympathy,  but  his 
gold — with  my  own  private  fortune — helped  me  even 
more.  With  it  I  have  purchased  a  great  tract  of 
land  on  the  Niagara  River  for  the  site  of  our  Jewish 
colony.  Yes,"  he  repeated,  proudly,  "I  have  pur 
chased  over  two  thousand  acres  of  land  on  Grand 
Island.  Persecuted  Jews  from  all  over  the  world 
will  plant  their  farms  there.  And  some  day  it  will 
be  one  of  the  greatest  commercial  centers  of  the 
world,  as  well  as  a  farming  colony,  for  it  lies  close 
to  the  Great  Lakes  and  opposite  the  new  Erie  Canal, 
through  which  our  vessels  loaded  with  the  produce 
of  our  farms  will  sail  to  feed  the  nations." 

He  paused  for  breath  and  Hushiel  nodded,  un 
derstanding  but  little  the  reason  of  his  hosts's  en 
thusiasm,  but  at  least  grasping  the  fact  that  the  city 
of  refuge  of  which  his  father  had  dreamed  so  long 
was  about  to  be  built. 


ACROSS  THE  WATERS  93 

"And  what  will   you   call  your   city?"   he   ven 
tured. 

"Ararat,"  answered  the  founder.  "Some  of  my 
friends  have  tried  to  persade  me  to  name  it  after 
myself;  this  I  would  not  do,  but  since  I  would  have 
future  generations  know  of  my  share  in  the  building 
of  the  city,  I  shall  call  it  Ararat,  which  they  may 
interpret  as  the  city  of  Noah.  But  above  all  would 
I  remind  all  that  hear  its  name  that  it  is  a  city 
of  refuge,  even  as  the  mountain  Ararat  was  a  place 
of  safety  after  the  flood  which  destroyed  the  earth 
in  the  days  of  Noah  of  old.  Our  people,  tossed 
for  so  long  upon  the  seas  of  bitterness  and  hatred, 
will  rest  here  as  the  ark  rested  upon  the  mountain 
Ararat  when  the  waters  of  the  flood  subsided." 
"But  will  only  Jews  be  welcome  there?" 
"It  will  be  as  open  as  Abraham's  tent  to  every  wan 
derer  who  seeks  shelter  there,"  replied  Mordecai 
Noah  with  a  magnificent  gesture.  "Especially  to 
our  brethren,  the  Indians.  For  I  firmly  believe," 
he  went  on,  not  pausing  to  think  that  the  boy  from 
across  the  seas  could  not  possibly  understand  him,  "I 
firmly  believe  that  the  red  men  are  descended  from 
the  lost  tribes  of  Israel  and  are  ready  to  extend  to 
us  the  hand  of  brotherhood  and  forsake  their  own 
gods  for  the  God  of  our  fathers.  You  have  never 
seen  our  Indian  brothers?"  Hushiel  shook  his  head, 
but  Peninah,  thoroughly  worn  out  by  her  journey  and 
the  long  talk  which  she  could  not  comprehend,  had 
fallen  asleep  and  could  not  answer.  "Then  you  will 
see  them  for  the  first  time  at  the  dedication  cere 
mony  of  our  city  of  Ararat,"  he  promised  graciously. 


94  THE  NEW  LAND 

"And  when  will  the  city  be  dedicated  ?"  The  boy's 
tone  was  eager. 

"Next  week.  And  I  will  take  both  of  you  to  Buf 
falo  with  me  that  you  may  see  the  ceremonies.  You 
see  you  have  come  in  good  time,"  answered  Mr. 
Mordecai  Noah. 


"But  I  won't  go  in  these  clothes,"  objected  Peninah 
hotly. 

For  almost  a  week  she  and  her  brother  had  been 
guests  in  Mr.  Noah's  household,  and  every  day  one 
or  another  of  his  Christian  or  Jewish  friends  had 
come  to  visit  them.  They  were  very  wonderful  peo 
ple,  these  Americans,  thought  Peninah,  and  most 
wonderful  of  all  were  the  little  girls  of  her  own  age, 
with  their  full  skirts  and  dainty  bonnets.  True, 
they  had  never  seen  the  Sahara  Desert  or  crossed 
the  mysterious  ocean,  yet  she  envied  them  their  pretty 
clothes,  feeling  outlandishly  queer  in  her  pointed  cap 
and  baggy  trousers.  Mr.  Noah  had  been  very  kind 
to  her;  he  had  brought  her  several  pretty  trinkets 
and  a  box  of  sweetmeats,  almost  as  good  as  those 
one  could  buy  in  the  bazaar  at  home,  she  told  Hush- 
iel — but  on  one  point  he  was  firm  and  nothing  could 
move  him. 

"Tomorrow  will  be  a  great  day  for  every  Jew 
upon  the  face  of  the  earth,"  he  had  told  the  chil 
dren  the  evening  before  the  day  set  for  the  dedica 
tion  ceremonies  for  which  he  had  brought  them  to 
Buffalo.  "I  should  like  to  purchase  a  little  present 
for  each  of  you,  some  token  that  you  may  show 


ACROSS  THE  WATERS  95 

your  children  some  day  when  you  tell  them  of  the 
founding  of  Ararat,  my  city.  What  shall  it  be?" 
he  asked,  smiling  into  their  eager  faces. 

"You  have  given  us  too  much  already,  more  than 
we  can  ever  repay,"  protested  Hushiel,  but  his  mod 
est  answer  was  quite  drowned  by  Penman's  shrill : 

"I  want  a  new  dress  and  a  bonnet  with  strings 
and  slippers  like  the  little  American  girls  wear!" 

"Peninah!  Aren't  you  ashamed  to  ask  for  so 
much,"  chided  her  brother. 

"And  I  want  a  little  black  silk  bag  to  carry  to 
morrow,"  went  on  Peninah,  unabashed.  "And  I 
think  I'd  like  blue  ribbons  on  the  bonnet." 

Mr.  Noah  smiled  indulgently,  but  he  shook  his 
head.  "I  will  get  you  an  outfit  such  as  little  Amer 
ican  girls  wear,"  he  promised,  kindly,  "but  you  must 
not  wear  it  tomorrow." 

Peninah  stared  at  him.  "But  I  want  them  for  to 
morrow,"  she  protested.  "All  the  little  girls  I  have 
met  here  in  your  house  are  coming  tomorrow  and  if 
I  am  dressed  as  they  are,  they  will  not  stare  at  me 
as  though  I  were  a  dancing  girl  at  a  fair.  I'm 
going  to  take  off  these,"  she  tugged  angrily  at  the 
bright  beads  about  her  neck,  "and  these,"  and  she 
gave  a  defiant  twitch  to  her  hated  Oriental  trousers. 

"Your  clothes  are  very  pretty,"  soothed  Mr.  Noah, 
"but  if  you  prefer  to  dress  like  the  people  of  our 
country,  I  will  buy  you  everything  you  need.  Only 
tomorrow  you  must  wear  the  clothes  you  wore  at 
home — even  if  the  people  stare." 

"But  why? — I  look  so  different " 

"It  is  just  because  your  clothes  are  so  different," 


96  THE  NEW  LAND 

explained  Mordecai  Noah  patiently,  "that  I  want 
you  to  wear  them.  My  dream  is  to  have  our  city 
a  refuge  for  the  Jews  of  all  the  nations  of  the  earth. 
Many  people  of  Buffalo  have  heard  your  story,  but 
they  have  not  seen  you.  When  they  see  you  and 
Hushiel  in  your  native  dress,  it  will  impress  them 
greatly  as  they  realize  that  even  the  children  of  the 
lands  far  across  the  sea  have  sought  my  city  and 
long  to  make  their  home  there.  You  understand, 
don't  you?" 

Hushiel  nodded,  but  Peninah  stamped  her  small, 
slippered  foot  angrily.  "I  won't  go  if  I  have  to  wear 
these  horrid  clothes  which  make  people  stare  at  me," 
she  declared  angrily,  and  ran  from  the  room,  crying 
as  she  went.  Mr.  Noah  seemed  really  disturbed  and 
was  about  to  call  her  back,  but  Hushiel  only  laughed 
a  little  and  shrugged  at  her  anger. 

"  'The  camel  wanted  to  have  horns,  so  he  lost 
his  ears  for  his  greediness',"  he  quoted  in  Hebrew. 
"It  is  hard  to  satisfy  a  woman.  Just  let  her  have 
her  cry  and  she  will  be  as  gentle  as  a  lamb  in  the 
morning." 

But  Peninah  was  decidedly  sulky  at  breakfast  the 
next  morning  and  as  the  hour  to  attend  the  dedica 
tion  ceremony  drew  near  she  grew  actually  violent 
in  declaring  that  she  wouldn't  leave  the  house  to  be 
"a  show  thing  for  all  those  strange  people  to  look 
at!"  "They  can  look  at  you,  Hushiel,  all  they  want 
to,"  she  exclaimed,  "but  I  won't  go  out  into  the 
streets  until  I  have  new  clothes!"  She  folded  her 
small  arms  defiantly  and  glared  angrily  at  her 
brother. 


ACROSS  THE  WATERS  97 

Hushiel,  usually  patient  and  long-suffering,  was 
now  really  angry.  He  grasped  her  shoulders  and 
shook  her  so  energetically  that  her  bright  beads  rat 
tled  merrily  together.  "Now  listen  to  me,"  he  be 
gan  sternly,  as  he  released  her,  and  she  stood  gasp 
ing  for  breath,  staring  at  him  with  eyes  wide  with 
hurt  astonishment.  "I've  been  listening  to  your  fool 
ish  words  till  I'm  tired.  So  you  must  listen  to  me 
now  and  obey  me  for  I  take  our  father's  place  in 
our  household,  don't  I?"  She  nodded  sullenly,  for 
she  knew  that  in  their  native  country  a  lad  as  young 
as  Hushiel  would  be  considered  grown  to  manhood. 
"If  he  were  here  today  he  would  command  you  to 
dry  your  foolish  tears  and  come  to  the  place  where 
they  are  celebrating  the  founding  of  our  new  city. 
If  he  who  has  given  us  so  many  gifts  and  welcomes 
us  to  his  home  desires  you  to  go  there  in  your  native 
dress,  you  will  obey  him.  Else  you  will  have  to  deal 
with  me,"  and  he  scowled  so  fiercely,  that  even  the 
dauntless  Peninah  was  a  little  frightened.  "Besides," 
he  ended,  craftily,  "you  are  so  anxious  to  see  the 
Indians  and  Mr.  Noah  himself  has  promised  that 
there  will  be  red  men  at  the  great  festival  today." 

With  a  shrug  of  elaborate  carelessness  which 
didn't  deceive  her  brother  in  the  least,  Peninah  dried 
her  eyes  and  began  to  smooth  her  rumpled  attire. 
"I'll  go,"  she  said,  indifferently,  "but  not  because 
I  have  to  obey  you.  It's  just  because  I  do  want  to 
see  those  Indians." 

Peninah's  wish  was  gratified,  for  there  was  a  good 
ly  sprinkling  of  red  men  at  the  dedication  ceremonies 
of  the  city  of  Ararat  held  in  Buffalo  on  that  bright 


98  THE  NEW  LAND 

September  day  so  long  ago.  So  many  citizens  had 
expressed  their  desire  to  be  present  that  it  was  dis 
covered  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  secure  enough 
boats  to  convey  them  to  Grand  Island.  So,  although 
a  monument  was  erected  on  the  spot  where  the  city 
of  Ararat  was  to  be  built,  the  dedication  ceremonies 
were  held  in  the  large  Episcopalian  church  of  Buf 
falo,  which  was  soon  crowded  with  those  who  either 
wished  Mr.  Noah  success  in  his  strange  undertaking 
or  were  drawn  by  idle  curiosity  to  witness  the  fes 
tival. 

Neither  of  the  children  from  Tunis  ever  forgot 
that  day.  First  there  was  the  long  and  impressive 
procession  down  the  main  streets  of  Buffalo,  led  by 
a  band  of  musicians  playing  stirring  melodies  all  the 
while.  After  the  musicians  came  companies  of  sol 
diers,  many  of  whom  had  distinguished  themselves 
in  the  war  of  1812,  in  which  conflict  Noah  had  re 
ceived  the  rank  of  major;  behind  them,  garbed  in 
their  picturesque  regalia,  walked  several  companies 
of  Masons,  for  Mr.  Noah  was  a  prominent  member 
of  that  organization;  and  then  came  Mordecai  Noah 
himself,  wearing  a  magnificent  robe  of  crimson  silk 
trimmed  with  bands  of  ermine.  Behind  the  Gov 
ernor  and  Judge  of  Israel,  as  he  styled  himself,  fol 
lowed  men  prominent  in  the  affairs  of  the  city  and 
state,  a  distinguished  company,  all  eager  to  show  their 
interest  in  the  proposed  Jewish  city  of  refuge.  At 
last  the  procession  filed  slowly  into  the  church.  The 
dim,  rich  light  struggling  through  the  stained  win 
dows  fell  like  an  enchanted  robe  upon  those  who  had 
marched  and  those  who  were  gathered  there;  it  was 


ACROSS  THE  WATERS  99 

a  picture  the  like  of  which  has  never  been  seen  in 
America  since  that  day. 

The  two  children  from  across  the  seas  sat  wide- 
eyed  as  they  looked  about  them.  The  citizens  of 
Buffalo,  the  richly  garbed  officials  and  soldiers  who 
had  marched  in  the  procession,  above  all,  the  In 
dians  in  their  feathers  and  blankets  and  beads,  stern- 
faced  and  tall  and  slender,  sieemed  people  from 
another  world.  For  a  moment  Hushiel  was  troubled  : 
would  his  father  think  it  right  for  him  to  attend 
a  Christian  church  even  on  such  a  day?  Then  he 
forgot  his  scruples  as  Mordecai  Noah,  still  in  his 
crimson  mantle,  advanced  on  the  platform  to  speak 
to  the  people.  The  boy  looked  from  his  regal  fig 
ure  on  the  Christian  clergymen  in  their  dark,  plain 
robes,  and  his  heart  thrilled  with  pride.  Mordecai 
Noah,  he  thought,  stood  head  and  shoulders  above 
all  other  men,  as  Israel,  under  his  wise  guidance, 
would  some  day  stand  above  the  nations.  He  heard 
not  a  word  of  the  long  oration  that  followed.  In 
stead  he  dreamed  of  the  city  which  would  arise  on 
Grand  Island,  a  city  as  mighty  as  Jerusalem  of  old, 
and  in  his  dream  he  saw  the  nations  of  the  earth 
entering  its  gates  to  pay  tribute  to  its  crimson-clad 
king.  So  he  happily  built  his  city  of  the  clouds  until 
the  ceremonies  were  almost  over  and  a  salute  of 
twenty-four  guns  made  little  Peninah  start  with 
terror  and  cling  to  him,  crying  aloud  in  her 
fright. 

And  now  came  busy,  happy  days  for  Hushiel  and 
Peninah.  Peninah,  dressed  "just  like  a  little  Amer 
ican  girl,"  as  she  proudly  told  herself  a  dozen  times 


100  THE  NEW  LAND 

a  day,  was  sent  to  a  school.  But  Mr.  Noah,  really 
interested  in  Hushiel,  undertook  to  teach  him  him 
self,  delighting  in  the  boy's  fine  mind,  so  well  trained 
by  his  long  Talmudic  studies  with  his  father.  As 
soon  as  he  learned  to  read  and  write  English,  the 
lad  proved  to  be  of  great  assistance  to  his  benefactor, 
copying  Mr.  Noah's  manuscripts  for  the  press,  for 
that  gentleman  was  an  eminent  journalist  and  one 
of  the  most  popular  dramatists  of  his  day,  and,  in 
time,  even  assisting  him  with  his  foreign  correspond 
ence. 

The  letters  from  abroad  grew  extremely  heavy, 
for  directly  after  the  dedication  ceremonies,  Mr. 
Noah,  as  self-appointed  Judge  of  Israel,  sent  a  proc 
lamation  to  all  of  the  leading  Jewish  communities  of 
the  world,  declaring  that  Ararat  was  established  and 
inviting  citizens  of  every  country  to  come  and  make 
their  home  there.  Those  who  were  content  in  their 
adopted  lands,  he  wrote,  might  remain  in  their  homes, 
and  he  begged  all  Jewish  soldiers  in  foreign  armies 
to  remember  that  the  Jew  must  be  true  to  the  obli 
gation  of  the  state  in  which  he  lives.  But  he  urged 
every  loyal  Jew  who  longed  for  the  restoration  of 
Israel's  glory  to  pay  a  yearly  tax  of  three  shekels 
(ancient  Jewish  coin  worth  about  a  quarter  in  our 
currency)  and  to  appoint  deputies  in  their  respective 
countries  who  would  elect  a  new  ruler  or  Judge  of 
the  Jewish  state  every  fourth  year.  And  that  the 
new  state  should  be  thoroughly  democratic,  Morde- 
cai  Noah  appointed  influential  Jews  in  every  impor 
tant  Jewish  community  to  act  as  his  commissioners 
in  governing  the  city  of  Ararat. 


ACROSS  THE  WATERS  101 

To  Hushiel  the  proclamation  seemed  all  that  could 
be  desired  and  he  waited  eagerly  for  the  warm  re 
sponse  he  felt  must  come  from  every  Jew  to  whom 
Noah  appealed.  But  to  his  great  surprise,  the  post 
brought  letter  after  letter  either  of  ridicule  or  de 
nunciation  ;  even  the  Jews  who  lived  in  the  countries 
of  darkest  persecution  refused  to  listen  to  his  offer 
of  a  home  in  the  new  Jewish  colony.  True,  many 
of  them  longed  to  emigrate  to  America,  the  land 
which  had  been  a  place  of  refuge  to  their  brothers 
for  so  many  years.  Others  dreamed  of  a  return  to 
Palestine,  willing  to  live  there  as  exiles  in  their  home 
land  until  the  coming  of  the  Messiah  brought  Israel's 
freedom.  Letter  after  letter  from  across  the  seas 
refused  to  aid  Noah  in  his  dream  for  Jewish  eman 
cipation.  "We  are  happy  in  our  adopted  land," 
wrote  one.  "When  God  in  His  mercy  sends  the  Mes 
siah,  then  will  He  lead  Israel  back  to  the  Promised 
Land,  Palestine,  and  not  before,"  wrote  another. 
While  the  Jews  of  America,  in  their  pride  as  Amer 
ican  citizens,  were  as  swift  as  their  brethren  abroad 
to  ridicule  Noah's  plans  for  Ararat,  denouncing  them 
as  impious  or  impractical. 

But  the  boy's  faith  in  the  project  never  wavered. 
He  did  not  venture  to  offer  his  master  sympathy 
for  his  disappointment,  but  in  his  shy,  boyish  way, 
he  did  manage  to  assure  Noah  again  and  again  that 
he  still  believed  in  the  city  of  refuge  and  longed  to 
dwell  there.  And  Noah  never  failed  to  smile  at 
his  half-uttered  assurances,  although  he  never  an 
swered  them  directly.  Once  he  kindly  placed  his 
hand  upon  the  boy's  shoulder  and  Hushiel  felt  as 


102  THE  NEW  LAND 

proud  as  a  young  squire  whom  his  master  had  dubbed 
knight. 

Gradually  the  correspondence  concerning  Ararat 
diminished  and  finally  it  ceased  altogether.  Morde- 
cai  Noah  made  no  comment;  there  was  still  plenty 
of  work  for  Hushiel  with  the  newspaper  articles;  he 
also  copied  portions  of  the  Book  of  Jasher  which 
Mr.  Noah  was  translating  from  the  Hebrew.  So 
the  two  labored  together  day  after  day,  but  neither 
even  mentioned  the  dream  that  had  called  Hushiel 
across  the  seas. 

"I  am  going  to  Washington  on  business,"  his  mas 
ter  informed  Hushiel  one  morning  as  they  sat  in 
his  study,  ready  to  begin  work  on  the  day's  tasks. 
"I  may  be  gone  for  some  time.  You  have  been 
working  hard  and  faithfully,"  he  added  kindly,  "and 
you  deserve  a  holiday.  Would  you  care  to  go  to 
Washington  with  me?" 

Hushel  answered  with  difficulty,  his  eyes  seeking 
the  floor,  for  suddenly  a  daring  idea  had  captured 
his  brain.  "You  are  very  kind,"  he  stammered,  "but 
— if  I  might — may  I  spend  my  holiday  as  I  please, 
if  I  am  back  at  my  tasks  in  time?" 

"Surely."  Noah's  hand  sought  his  wallet.  "Here 
is  money.  Give  Peninah  a  little  treat,  too,  and  do 
not  hurry  back  to  your  desk  too  soon.  When  you 
are  ready  for  work  again,  you  will  find  plenty  of 
manuscript  which  I  will  leave  for  you  to  copy  dur 
ing  my  absence.  I  think  I  will  be  gone  a  fortnight." 

"My  holiday  will  not  last  that  long,"  answered 
the  boy,  turning  back  to  his  papers.  "And,  please 
sir,  do  not  mention  this  to  Peninah.  I  will  buy  her 


ACROSS  THE  WATERS  103 

some  pleasure  with  the  money  you  have  just  given 
me.  But  I  must  have  my  holiday  alone." 

So  Hushiel  was  alone  when  he  stood  before  the 
monument  of  brick  and  wood  which  had  been  erected 
on  Grand  Island,  the  proposed  site  of  the  city  of 
Ararat.  To  the  lad,  unused  to  the  wilderness  of 
America,  the  journey  down  the  river  had  been  a  fas 
cinating  one.  Now  he  stood  alone  in  the  vast  silence, 
broken  only  by  the  roar  of  the  Falls  in  the  distance. 
How  long  he  stood  here  before  the  pile  of  bricks 
and  wood  Hushiel  never  knew.  When  he  tried  to 
recall  the  scene  years  afterwards,  he  pictured  clearly 
a  slender,  dark-skinned  boy  lying  upon  the  ground, 
weeping  bitterly  as  he  listened  to  the  rumblings  of 
Niagara  which  seemed  to  mock  him  as  he  grieved  for 
the  city  which  had  perished  at  its  birth.  For  now 
he  realized  without  a  word  from  Mordecai  Noah 
that  the  dream  had  failed — that  his  people  must  wait 
a  little  longer  for  a  real  Messiah  to  lead  them  into 
the  Land  of  Promise.  Bitterest  of  all,  even  more 
bitter  than  the  breaking  of  his  dream,  was  the  real 
ization  that  Mordecai  Noah,  for  all  his  lofty  ideals, 
his  generous  motives,  was  not  of  the  stuff  of  which 
leaders  are  made.  His  voice,  no  matter  how  elo 
quent,  would  never  be  heeded  should  he  again  seek 
to  call  the  wandering  children  of  Israel  together. 
And  thinking  of  these  things,  the  boy  wept  like  a 
little  child. 

Years  later,  when  the  monument  on  Grand  Island 
had  fallen  into  decay,  Hushiel  saw  the  cornerstone 
of  the  dream  city,  Ararat,  displayed  in  one  of  the 
rooms  of  the  Buffalo  Historical  Society.  He  was  no 


104  THE  NEW  LAND 

longer  a  sensitive  boy,  yet  the  tears  sprang  to  his 
eyes  as  he  re-read  the  old  inscription  which  you  may 
still  read  if  you  visit  the  Society's  rooms  today: 
"Shema  Yisroel,  Adonoi  Elohenu,  Adonoi  Echod 
(Hear,  O  Israel,  the  Lord  our  God,  the  Lord  is 
One) .  Ararat,  a  City  of  Refuge  for  the  Jews,  Foun 
ded  by  Mr.  M.  Noah  in  the  month  Tishri,  5586, 
Sept.,  1825,  and  in  the  5<Dth  year  of  American  Inde 
pendence." 


THREE  AT  GRACE 

The  Story  of  the  First  Jewish  Settler 
in  Alabama. 

Colonel  Hawkins,  the  Indian  agent  for  the  gov 
ernment  at  Pole  Cat  Springs,  Alabama,  in  1804, 
leaned  across  the  pine  table  to  extend  a  cordial  hand 
to  his  visitor.  Abram  Mordecai,  who  stood  before 
him,  although  almost  fifty,  gave  one  the  impression 
of  a  much  younger  man.  Lean  and  lithe  as  a  pan 
ther,  with  shaggy  black  hair  and  keen  eyes,  his  dis 
tinctly  Jewish  features  were  so  tanned  and  weather- 
beaten  that  he  looked  far  more  the  Indian  than  the 
Jew.  He  nodded  gayly  to  his  employer  before  he 
flung  himself  into  a  chair,  his  gun-stock  between 
his  knees,  his  great  brown  hands  clasped  behind  his 
head.  As  he  sat  there  dressed  in  the  buckskin  shirt 
and  trousers  of  his  half-civilized  Indian  neighbors, 
every  free  movement  of  his  large  body  suggesting 
his  life  in  the  wilderness,  the  Jewish  adventurer  pre 
sented  a  perfect  picture  of  the  pioneer  of  his  day. 

"I  have  come,  Colonel  Hawkins,"  he  began  in 
his  usual  abrupt  manner,  "to  ask  your  help  in  build 
ing  a  cotton  gin.  Yes,"  as  the  other  showed  sur 
prise,  "I  know  the  enterprise  seems  a  strange  one 
for  a  rover  like  me  to  suggest,  and,  perhaps,  a  fool 
ish  undertaking  in  the  wilderness.  Yet  the  wilder 
ness  must  pass  and  we  must  build  now  for  the  days 
to  come." 

105 


106  THE  NEW  LAND 

"Go  on,  Mordecai,"  encouraged  his  chief.  "What 
are  your  plans?" 

"I  know  how  eager  you  are  to  civilize  the  Indians 
in  our  region  and  teach  them  the  arts  of  peace," 
went  on  Mordecai.  "Thus  far  we  have  done  noth 
ing  but  trade  with  them  for  pelties  and  healing  barks 
and  oils.  But  could  we  not  have  the  squaws  raise 
the  cotton  and  bring  it  down  the  river  in  their  canoes 
and  prepare  it  in  our  gin  for  the  market  in  New 
Orleans?" 

"Good."  Hawkins  nodded  approvingly.  "First 
we  must  gain  permission  of  the  Hickory  Ground 
Indians  for  the  erection  of  our  gin,  for  it  will  not 
be  wise  to  risk  their  enmity  at  the  outset.  But  there 
is  not  another  gin  in  the  state.  Where  shall  we 
find  a  pattern;  where  shall  we  get  the  workmen  to 
fashion  one  for  us;  or  the  needed  tools?" 

"I  have  thought  of  that,"  Abram  Mordecai  told 
him.  "There  are  two  Jews  of  Georgia,  Lyon  and 
Barrett,  who  have  both  the  tools  and  the  skill  for 
the  task.  I  met  Lyon  when  we  were  both  young 
men  serving  in  the  army  under  General  Washington. 
You  can  rely  upon  him  for  faithful  service." 

A  little  smile  curved  the  agent's  lips.  "You  Jews !" 
he  exclaimed.  "Is  there  any  enterprise  in  which 
you  have  not  had  a  hand?  Even  back  to  the  build 
ing  of  the  pyramids  in  old  Egypt!  It  is  like  a  Jew 
to  plan  the  first  cotton  gin  in  Alabama — and  to  bring 
two  of  his  race  to  build  it." 

"We  are  indeed  builders,"  answered  Mordecai  a 
little  dryly,  "but  not  always  for  ourselves."  He 
rose.  "Shall  I  send  for  them?" 


THREE  AT  GRACE  107 

"The  sooner  the  better.  And  it  will  be  good  to 
meet  your  fellow  Hebrews  again,  eh,  Mordecai?" 

Abram  Mordecai,  already  at  the  door,  turned  a 
moment.  His  eyes,  a  striking  hazel  in  the  tan  of 
his  roughened  face,  grew  wistful  for  a  moment.  "I 
am  more  Indian  than  Jew,  more  savage  than  white 
man,"  he  answered  gravely.  "Perhaps  it  is  a  pity," 
and  he  was  gone. 

Mordecai,  the  child  of  the  wilderness,  where  the 
struggle  against  savage  and  beast  of  prey  sharpen 
the  wits  and  teach  the  pioneer  the  need  for  rapid  de 
cisions,  lost  no  time  in  executing  his  commission. 
As  soon  as  word  could  reach  Lyon,  he  informed  his 
old  comrade  of  the  work  he  had  in  mind  for  him. 
The  next  post  told  Mordecai  that  the  two  men  with 
their  tools,  gin  saws  and  other  materials  loaded  upon 
pack  horses,  were  already  on  their  way  to  Alabama. 
He  waited  eagerly  for  their  arrival.  The  gin  meant 
more  to  him  than  a  source  of  revenue,  were  he  suc 
cessful  in  the  cotton  market.  For,  as  Hawkins  had 
observed,  the  Jew  was  not  content  to  be  a  mere 
trader  and  hunter,  like  so  many  adventurers  of  the 
back  woods.  He  longed  to  build,  to  create  some 
thing  lasting  even  in  that  ever-changing  wilderness. 
And  perhaps,  mingled  with  his  impatience,  was  a 
queer  longing  to  see  his  own  again,  not  merely  white 
men  like  Colonel  Hawkins,  but  Jews  such  as  he  had 
known  before  leaving  his  native  Pennsylvania  so 
many  years  ago.  He  smiled  to  find  himself  actually 
counting  the  days  before  he  could  expect  Lyon  and 
Barrett  to  arrive. 

They  came  at  last  one  evening  near  sunset,  two 


108  THE  NEW  LAND 

brown-skinned  rovers  in  half-savage  dress  affected 
by  the  backwoodsmen  of  that  day;  Lyon,  grave  and 
silent,  Barrett,  with  a  boy's  laugh,  despite  the  sprink 
ling  of  gray  in  his  curly  hair.  Mordecai  stood  at 
the  door  of  his  hut  to  greet  them.  A  little  behind 
him,  humbly  respectful  like  all  the  women  of  her 
nation  to  her  lord  and  master,  stood  a  squaw  clad 
in  a  blanket  with  strings  of  beads  woven  in  the  long, 
dark  braids  of  her  hair.  Her  bright,  black  eyes 
sparkled  with  interest  as  she  surveyed  the  strangers; 
but  as  they  came  nearer,  she  turned  quickly  and 
went  back  into  the  hut,  where  she  continued  to  pre 
pare  the  evening  meal.  But  Mordecai  advanced  to 
ward  the  travellers,  his  hand  extended  in  wel 
come. 

"Shalom  Aleichem"  he  began,  his  tongue  falter 
ing  a  little  over  the  old  Hebrew  greeting  he  had 
not  used  for  so  long.  "I  am  glad  you  have  come  at 
last." 

"Aleichem  Shalom''  answered  Lyon.  "It  is  long 
since  we  have  met,  Abram  Mordecai."  He  took 
his  old  comrade's  outstretched  hand  and  indicated 
Barrett  with  a  curt  nod.  "My  friend,"  he  said, 
briefly.  "He  will  help  us  build  the  gin." 

"You  are  both  welcome,"  their  host  assured  them. 
"Becky,"  he  called,  and  the  Indian  woman  appeared 
at  the  door,  "unload  the  horses  and  bed  them  for 
the  night  with  ours,"  and  he  indicated  a  roughly 
constructed  barn  a  little  way  from  the  hut  which  it 
so  resembled.  "But  first  bring  a  pail  of  fresh  water 
from  the  spring  that  these  gentlemen  may  wash  after 
their  journey." 


THREE  AT  GRACE  109 

Becky,  still  devouring  the  newcomers  with  her 
eyes,  curiously,  like  those  of  an  inquisitive  squirrel, 
caught  up  a  wooden  bucket  that  stood  by  the  open 
door  and  started  down  the  winding  path  that  led 
to  the  spring.  "My  wife,"  explained  Mordecai,  pre 
tending  not  to  see  the  look  of  surprise  with  which 
his  former  friend  Lyon  greeted  his  statement. 
"Yes,"  half  in  apology,  "I  know  it  seems  strange 
to  you.  But  for  so  many  years  I  felt  myself  a  part 
of  the  Creek  nation,  that  when  I  was  ill  with  malarial 
fever  and  she  nursed  me  back  to  health,  I  was  glad 
to  lessen  my  loneliness  and  make  her  my  wife  ac 
cording  to  the  customs  of  her  people.  Yet,"  and 
he  smiled  a  little  bitterly,  uyet,  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  I  still  remember  that  I  am  a  Jew." 

He  led  them  into  the  little  cabin  with  its  one  win 
dow  and  floor  of  clay.  At  one  end  stood  a  rude 
fireplace  made  of  bricks  where  a  huge  kettle  swung 
Indian-fashion  above  the  logs.  At  the  other  end  of 
the  room  several  heavy  blankets  indicated  a  bed, 
the  only  furniture  being  a  few  rough  chairs,  a  table 
and  an  old  trunk  half  covered  by  a  gayly  striped 
blanket  such  as  Indian  women  weave.  "A  rough 
place,  even  for  the  wilderness,"  confessed  Mordecai, 
"but  I  dare  attempt  no  better.  Of  late,  the  Indians 
once  so  friendly,  have  grown  surly  and  suspicious; 
they  rightly  fear  that  the  white  man  will  wrench 
the  wilderness  from  them.  Especially  Towerculla, 
a  neighboring  chief,  who  hates  the  ways  of  the  whites 
and  has  been  murmuring  against  me  ever  since  he 
has  heard  that  a  cotton  gin  will  be  erected  through 
my  agency.  So  who  knows  when  I  will  be  driven 


110  THE  NEW  LAND 

from  this  place  by  the  red  men — providing  that  they 
allow  me  to  escape  with  my  life." 

"And  have  you  no  white  neighbors?"  asked  Bar 
rett,  who  had  seated  himself  upon  the  trunk,  where 
he  sat  loosening  his  dusty  leggins. 

"There  is  'Old  Milly'."  Mordecai's  hazel  eyes 
twinkled  a  little.  "She  is  the  wife  of  an  English 
soldier  who  deserted  from  the  army  during  the  Revo 
lution.  After  her  husband's  death  she  took  up  her 
abode  here.  She  is  a  woman  of  strong  and  resolute 
character  and  has  considerable  power  over  the  In 
dians  of  this  district,  who  stand  greatly  in  awe  of 
her.  She  lately  married  a  red  man  and  is  really  a 
great  person  in  our  little  community,  for  she  owns 
several  slaves  and  many  horses  and  cattle.  Tomor 
row  I  will  introduce  you  to  my  only  white  neighbor. 
But  here  is  Becky  with  the  water,"  as  the  squaw 
entered  with  the  brimming  pail.  "Wash  the  dust 
from  your  faces  that  we  may  sit  and  eat,  for  you 
must  be  nearly  famished." 

The  travelers,  having  washed  in  the  wooden  basin 
that  stood  on  one  of  the  chairs  and  shaken  some  of 
the  dust  from  their  garments,  now  came  eagerly 
enough  to  the  table,  which  the  silent  Becky  had  pre 
pared  for  them.  Upon  the  bare  boards  she  had  set 
several  mugs  and  heavy  crockery  bowls,  pewter  forks 
and  a  large,  steaming  vessel  of  the  stew  which  she 
had  taken  from  the  fire,  as  well  as  several  cakes 
made  of  corn  flour  and  cooked  in  the  ashes.  Such 
fare  was  familiar  enough  to  the  pioneers,  but  the 
two  guests  could  not  help  staring  at  the  book  that 
lay  at  each  plate,  a  worn  Sidur  (prayer  book),  the 


THREE  AT  GRACE  111 

ancient  Hebrew  characters  looking  strangely  foreign 
in  the  primitive  forests  of  America.  Abram  Mor- 
decai  saw  the  two  men  exchange  glances  and  flushed 
a  little  beneath  his  tan. 

"A  foolish  thought  of  mine,"  he  murmured. 
"When  I  left  my  father's  house  in  Pennsylvania  I 
carried  one  of  these  in  my  pack,  wrapped  in  the 
talith  (praying  shawl),  he  had  brought  with  him 
from  Germany.  And  later  I  found  the  two  others 
in  the  bundle  of  a  Jewish  peddlar  murdered  by  the 
Indians.  The  Indian  agent  at  St.  Mary's  sent  me 
to  ransom  him  and  several  other  captives  taken  by 
the  Creeks,  but  I  came  too  late.  Somehow,  I  could 
not  bear  to  throw  them  away  or  destroy  them.  They 
have  been  with  me  in  all  my  wanderings  and  more 
than  once  when  I  thought  it  about  time  for  the 
fall  holy  days  have  I  read  the  prayers  and  wished 
that  I  might  have  a  few  of  my  brethren  with  me 
to  observe  them  aright.  And  tonight — "  for  a  mo 
ment  the  confident,  self-reliant  adventurer  seemed  as 
embarrassed  as  a  bashful  child,  "and  tonight  I  hoped 
that  since  there  would  be  three  of  us  at  grace,  we 
might  read  the  benedictions  together — if  you  care 
to — and  I  would  know  how  it  feels  to  be  a  Jew 
again." 

Barrett  laughed,  his  hearty  school  boy  laugh,  as 
he  flung  himself  unceremoniously  into  a  chair  beside 
the  table.  "It's  many  a  day  since  I've  said  or  heard 
a  brocha  (blessing),"  he  said,  "but  I'll  go  through  it 
without  any  book,  thank  you." 

Lyon  said  nothing,  as  he  took  the  place  Mordecai 
assigned  him  at  the  foot  of  the  table,  but  there 


112  THE  NEW  LAND 

was  a  tender  look  about  his  grave  mouth.  Perhaps 
he  realized  how  difficult  it  had  been  for  Mordecai 
to  confess  his  loneliness  for  the  customs  of  his  peo 
ple;  but,  according  to  his  wont,  he  said  nothing. 

Smiling  almost  childishly,  Mordecai  passed  a  bowl 
of  water  to  each  of  his  guests  that  they  might  wash 
their  hands,  which  they  did,  murmuring  the  blessing 
as  they  did  so.  Then,  taking  his  place  at  the  head 
of  the  table,  he  poured  water  over  his  own  hands, 
saying  the  Hebrew  benediction  as  he  wiped  them 
upon  a  faded  red  napkin  which  lay  beside  his  Sidur. 
Somehow,  after  his  brief  confession,  he  felt  ashamed 
to  tell  his  guests  that  the  napkin  had  belonged  to 
his  mother  and  had  rested  beside  the  neglected  Sidur 
for  so  many  years.  Then,  breaking  a  bit  from  the 
bread  and  handing  it  to  each  of  the  men,  he  repeated 
the  blessing  for  which,  although  he  had  not  recited 
it  for  so  many  years,  he  need  no  prompting  from 
the  worn  black  book  beside  his  plate. 

"Blessed  art  thou,  O  Lord  our  God,  King  of 
the  universe,  who  bringest  forth  bread  from  the 
earth,"  he  said  in  Hebrew. 

Becky,  as  her  husband  called  her,  stood  in  the 
background  as  silent  as  a  bronze  statute  until  the 
little  ceremony  was  over.  If  she  was  impressed  by 
the  strangeness  of  it  all,  she  gave  no  sign.  For  so 
many  of  the  customs  of  her  husband's  alien  race  were 
strange  to  her  that  she  had  long  ago  ceased  to  won 
der  or  desire  any  explanation.  Now  at  a  sign  from 
Mordecai,  she  took  away  the  bowl  of  water,  and, 
filling  a  plate  with  the  savoury  stew,  took  it  to  the 
corner  of  the  hut,  here,  crouched  upon  the  blankets, 


THREE  AT  GRACE  113 

she  ate  her  supper,  quite  content  to  watch  the  white 
strangers  from  a  distance. 

Mordecai  served  his  guests,  then  himself,  and 
over  the  stew  and  corn  bread  the  men  exchanged 
stories  of  their  experiences  in  the  wilderness.  The 
host  told  a  little  of  his  own  adventures  since  leaving 
the  east,  of  his  life  as  a  trader  with  the  Indians,  of 
the  peace  treaty  he  had  brought  about  with  the  Chick- 
asaw  nation,  of  his  journeys  south  to  New  Orleans 
and  Mobile,  his  furs  and  medicinal  barks  piled  high 
in  the  barge  with  no  companions  but  the  painted  sav 
ages  to  assist  him.  A  life  of  highly-colored  adven 
ture  with  variety  enough  to  satisfy  any  spirit,  but 
even  now  Mordecai  was  growing  restless  and  longed 
for  another  enterprise  to  occupy  him  after  the  cotton 
gin  should  be  completed. 

Then,  the  meal  being  over,  Mordecai,  with  the 
same  shamefaced  bashfulness  he  had  shown  when 
speaking  of  the  Sidurim,  turned  the  pages  of  the 
book,  saying  almost  wistfully:  "I  know  that  to 
night  is  not  a  festival  or  Sabbath  with  us,  gentle 
men,  but  if  you  would  care  to  go  over  the  psalm 
with  me " 

''We've  been  waiting  a  long  time  for  this  and 
we'll  give  good  measure,"  laughed  little  Barrett,  but 
his  eyes  did  not  jest  as  Mordecai  in  the  quaint  old 
sing-song  of  the  synagogue  began  "When  the  Lord 
turned  again  the  captivity  of  Zion"  and  Lyon  gravely 
followed, 

"And  now,"  Mordecai's  face  fairly  glowed  with 
pleasure,  "now  we  will  have  the  special  grace,  since 
there  »re  three  of  us  at  the  table." 


114  THE  NEW  LAND 

"Let  us  say  grace,"  he  began,  with  hardly  a  look 
at  the  Hebrew. 

"Blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord  from  this  time 
forth  and  forever,"  responded  his  guests. 

"With  the  permission  of  those  present,"  went  on 
the  host,  "we  will  bless  Him  of  whose  bounty  we 
have  partaken." 

Blessed  be  He  of  whose  bounty  we  have  par 
taken,"  answered  the  others,  "and  through  whose 
goodness  we  live." 

As  Mordecai  repeated  the  Hebrew  phrases, 
learned  in  his  almost  forgotten  Cheder  (Hebrew 
School)  days,  a  great  longing  came  upon  him  and 
the  tears  coursed  down  his  cheeks.  To  return  again 
to  this  home,  to  keep  the  customs  of  his  people  and 
to  die  at  last  with  Jewish  friends  about  him  and 
the  Hebrew's  declaration  of  faith  upon  his  lips! 
But,  as  he  closed  the  book,  his  eyes  glanced  about 
the  little  room  and  they  grew  dark  with  pain.  The 
gun  standing  in  the  corner,  the  furs  drying  upon  the 
wall,  Becky  crouching  upon  the  blankets — all  spoke 
to  him  of  a  life  he  had  lived  too  long  to  exchange 
for  the  quiet  existence  of  which  he  sometimes 
dreamed.  He  rose,  and,  with  an  abrupt  gesture, 
pointed  to  a  shaggy  robe  before  the  fire  place. 

"I  have  no  better  bed  to  offer  you,"  he  said,  "but 
I  know  you  are  not  used  to  a  soft  couch.  You 
must  be  tired  from  your  journey.  Becky  will  tend 
to  your  horses  so  you  had  better  sleep  now,  that 
tomorrow  we  may  start  out  early  and  visit  Colonel 
Hawkins.  He  would  see  you  before  you  begin  work 
on  the  cotton  gin." 


THREE  AT  GRACE  115 

The  cotton  gin,  the  first  to  be  built  in  Alabama, 
was  completed  in  due  time,  and  Barrett  and  Lyons, 
their  pack  horses  again  loaded  with  their  tools,  were 
ready  to  return  to  Georgia.  If  Mordecai  felt  any 
pain  at  having  his  co-religionists  depart,  he  was  skil 
ful  in  concealing  it.  For,  after  his  confidence  over 
the  supper  table,  he  had  slipped  back  into  his  stoical 
reserve  and  not  even  the  taciturn  Lyon  was  more 
silent  or  chary  of  speech  in  anything  that  did  not 
directly  concern  the  business  in  hand.  So  it  was 
merry  little  Barrett  who  alone  mentioned  the  occa 
sion  that  for  a  moment  had  brought  the  strangers 
of  the  wilderness  together  and  had  made  them 
brothers. 

"We'll  be  coming  back  again  when  we  want  a 
taste  of  Becky's  good  stew — and  a  blessing  after 
wards,"  he  jested  as  he  swung  himself  into  his  sad 
dle  and  reached  down  to  shake  hands  with  Morde 
cai. 

"Or  to  build  another  gin  if  the  Indians  do  not 
molest  this  one  and  drive  me  off,"  answered  Morde 
cai  lightly,  but  the  jest  lingered  in  his  mind.  His 
life  among  the  superstitious  savages,  his  solitary 
hours  in  the  wilderness,  had  helped  to  tinge  his 
shrewd,  practical  mind  with  a  strong  mysticism.  He 
tried  to  dismiss  the  matter;  but,  as  he  walked  back 
to  his  hut  that  evening,  Barrett's  light  words  haunted 
him  and  gave  him  no  rest.  "Perhaps,"  he  muttered, 
"perhaps,  before  my  life  is  over,  we  will  meet  again 
and  there  will  be  three  of  us  at  grace." 

But  his  fancies  fled  and  his  dreamy  face  grew 
hard  and  alert  as  he  came  to  the  clearing  before 


116  THE  NEW  LAND 

his  hut.  There,  in  the  midst  of  his  Indian  follow 
ers,  all  armed  with  long  poles,  stood  Chief  Tower- 
culla,  threatening  Becky.  The  squaw  had  placed 
herself  in  the  door  of  the  hut,  where  she  stood  with 
folded  arms,  listening  to  the  Chief's  angry  threats. 
If  she  felt  any  fear,  there  was  no  trace  of  it  in 
her  expressionless  face.  Nor  did  she  seem  relieved 
when  Mordecai  pushed  between  her  and  the  angry 
Indian  and  demanded  what  business  had  brought  him 
there.  She  merely  shrugged  a  little,  hitched  up  her 
buckskin  skirt  and  resumed  her  task  of  pounding 
corn  between  two  stones  at  the  door  of  the  hut, 
appearing  to  take  no  interest  in  the  quarrel  that  fol 
lowed.  For  like  a  good  squaw,  she  did  not  think 
it  seemly  to  interfere  in  her  husband's  business 
affairs. 

"And  now,  Towerculla,"  began  Mordecai  in  the 
Indian  tongue  which  he  spoke  fluently.  "Why  do 
you  come  here  and  seek  to  frighten  my  squaw  in 
my  absence?  And  why  have  you  brought  your  men 
with  you?" 

The  Chief  grunted  in  disgust.  "And  why  do  you 
bring  the  pale  face  here  to  build?"  he  answered 
Mordecai  question  for  question.  "Our  squaws  are 
well  satisfied  to  work  in  the  fields,  to  make  oil  from 
the  hickory  nuts,  to  weave  blankets.  But  you  would 
have  them  sell  you  cotton  to  make  you  rich;  you 
would  build  a  store  and  other  white  men  would  be 
greedy  to  trade  with  our  women  and  build  other 
gins  and  other  stores — and  soon  there  would  be 

many  of  your  people  while  we "  he  waved  his 

hand  toward  his  warriors,  "we  children  of  the  red 


THREE  AT  GRACE  117 

men  would  be  driven  further  into  the  wilderness. 
You  have  already  driven  us  too  far,  you  white  men. 
I  am  willing  to  spare  you  for  the  sake  of  'Old  Milly,' 
whom  we  do  not  fear,  for  she  is  one  of  us.  And 
she  has  pleaded  for  you  more  than  once.  So  I 
will  allow  you  and  your  squaw  to  depart  in  peace. 
By  tomorrow  morning  leave  for  some  other  place — 
for  it  is  not  good  to  dwell  here  any  longer." 

For  a  moment  Mordecai  was  too  astonished  to 
answer.  Then  he  laughed  boldly  into  the  Indian's 
angry  face.  Towerculla  sprang  for  him,  but  Mor 
decai  swiftly  stepped  aside,  and  crouching,  sprung 
upon  the  Chief  and  struck  him  to  the  ground.  For 
a  minute  the  two  struggled  together.  Then  the  In 
dians  fell  upon  Mordecai  and  released  Towerculla, 
who  rose  from  the  dust,  his  face  terrible  in  his  anger. 
Mordecai  struggled  in  vain  against  the  blows  of 
Towerculla's  followers.  As  he  sank  to  the  ground 
overpowered,  he  caught  himself  murmuring,  "They 
cannot  kill  me,  until  we  three  say  grace  together 
again,"  even  while  he  longed  for  death  to  cut  short 
the  agony  which  was  beginning  to  wrack  every  limb 
of  his  cruelly  beaten  body.  Then  out  of  the  mist  of 
red  which  seemed  to  swim  before  his  eyes,  a  merci 
ful  black  cloud  descended  and  he  knew  nothing  more 
until  he  regained  consciousness  and  found  himself 
in  "Old  MillyY'  cabin,  with  Becky,  still  calm  of 
face  and  quiet  of  voice  bathing  his  wounds  with  cool 
water  from  the  spring. 

"What  has  happened?"  he  asked,  trying  to  rise, 
but  falling  back  moaning  in  his  pain. 

"Old  Milly,"  a  tall,  sharp-faced  woman,  who  sat 


118  THE  NEW  LAND 

weaving  a  basket  as  skillfully  as  any  squaw,  an 
swered  him.  "Towerculla  would  have  slain  you, 
had  not  Becky  brought  me  in  time.  He  is  not  a  good 
enemy  to  have,  Abram  Mordecai.  When  you  are 
stronger,  you  must  take  his  advice  and  go  away.  The 
Indians  did  not  burn  the  barn,  so  your  horses  are 
safe,  but  the  house  was  in  flames  before  I  could 
reach  it  and  persuade  Towerculla  to  leave  you  in 
peace." 

Becky  rose  and  walked  to  the  table.  Returning  to 
where  her  husband  lay,  she  placed  in  his  hand  three 
books  with  worn  black  covers  and  a  faded  red  nap 
kin.  "I  ran  and  got  these  when  I  saw  they  were 
destroying  our  cabin,"  she  told  him.  "I  knew  you 
had  kept  them  long;  that  they  were  dear  to  you  as 
the  gods  of  our  people  are  to  us — like  a  charm, 
maybe,  to  keep  death  away.  And  perhaps,  when 
the  white  men  come  again,  you  will  want  to  have 
them  on  the  table  and  sing." 

For  the  moment,  Mordecai  forgot  that  Becky  was 
only  a  squaw,  undeserving,  according  to  the  custom 
of  her  people,  either  thanks  or  praise.  "You  are  a 
very  good  wife,"  he  said,  gently,  "and  I  will  buy 
you  real  gold  earrings  with  the  first  money  I  earn 
from  the  cotton  gin."  And  since  he  was  so  weak, 
neither  woman  dared  to  tell  him  for  several  days  that 
the  vengeance  of  the  Indians  had  extended  to  the 
gin  house,  which  now  lay  a  heap  of  black  ruins  near 
the  river. 

Broken  in  body  and  ruined  in  fortune,  Mordecai 
accompanied  by  the  faithful  Becky,  bade  farewell  to 
Colonel  Hawkins  and  journeyed  further  into  the 


THREE  AT  GRACE  119 

wilderness.  For  the  Indian  agent  prudently  refused 
to  erect  a  second  gin  while  the  Indians  still  planned 
to  injure  Mordecai,  and  the  adventurer  himself  felt 
that  it  would  be  hopeless  to  seek  to  gain  the  friend 
ship  of  the  embittered  Chief.  Trader  and  trapper, 
he  led  his  solitary  existence  in  the  south,  with  no 
companionship  but  Becky's,  until  her  death  left  him 
entirely  alone. 

He  had  regained  his  former  vigor  by  this  time 
and  sometimes  dreamed  of  returning  to  his  boyhood 
home.  But  from  the  pioneer  towns  springing  up 
wherever  he  passed,  he  knew  that  a  new  civilization 
was  rising  in  America ;  that  he  was  of  the  generation 
that  must  pass  away  as  surely  as  the  Indian  and  he 
realized  that  he  would  feel  sadly  out  of  place  in 
the  surroundings  that  he  had  known  as  a  boy.  Yet, 
dreamer  that  he  was,  he  never  ceased  to  picture  him 
self,  a  sober  stay-at-home  citizen,  living  out  the  last 
years  of  his  life  in  communion  with  his  fellow  Jews, 
who  had  never  left  their  quiet  firesides.  Nor  in  all 
his  wanderings  did  he  ever  part  with  the  three  Sid- 
urim  and  the  faded  red  napkin.  For  as  he  grew 
older,  the  fantastic  notion  grew  ever  stronger  that 
before  he  died  he  would  again  say  grace  with  the 
builders  of  his  cotton  gin. 

Almost  a  century  old,  he  wandered  back  at  last 
to  Montgomery  county,  seeking  the  very  spot  where 
his  hut  had  stood  before  Chief  Towerculla  had 
driven  him  away.  Now  the  settlement  of  Dudly- 
ville,  so  close  at  hand,  made  him  feel  cramped  and 
uncomfortable.  Colonel  Hawkins  had  long  since  left 
Pole  Cat  Springs;  Chief  Towerculla,  driven  away 


120  THE  NEW  LAND 

by  the  white  men  he  had  always  feared,  was  dead; 
"Old  Milly"  no  longer  lived  in  her  savage  kingdom 
with  her  husband  and  her  slaves. 

But  he  felt  too  tired  to  travel  further;  perhaps 
he  realized  that  no  matter  where  he  went  he  would 
feel  lonely  as  the  survivor  of  another  day  and  gen 
eration.  So  he  built  a  tiny  cabin  for  himself,  even 
putting  together  some  crude  furniture.  Here  he 
lived,  never  seeing  a  human  face  unless  he  walked 
to  the  village  to  secure  supplies,  which  the  settlers, 
vaguely  touched  by  his  loneliness,  never  failed  to 
press  upon  him.  He  talked  to  them  sometimes  of  the 
days  before  the  wilderness  had  been  conquered,  speak 
ing  too,  of  the  first  cotton  gin,  which  the  Indians  had 
destroyed.  "I  love  the  spot,"  he  used  to  say,  "but 
it  is  growing  too  crowded;  yes,"  with  a  shake  of  his 
white  head,  "too  crowded  for  one  who  needs  plenty 
of  fresh  air  to  breathe.  Next  spring  I  must  journey 
on."  But  when  spring  came,  he  would  wait  until 
fall,  and  again  through  the  long  winter.  For  his  old 
ambition  had  left  him  and  though  his  heart  still  wan 
dered  afar  through  the  forests,  his  feet  were  too 
weary  to  follow  it. 

But  one  evening  he  felt  strangely  strong  and  re 
freshed.  He  had  worked  hard  all  the  afternoon 
cleaning  his  little  hut  and  now  the  humble  room 
looked  as  spotless  as  spring  water  and  vigorous  scrub 
bing  could  make  it.  Even  the  table  and  chairs  were 
scoured  and  the  fireplace  cleaned,  while,  to  complete 
the  day's  task  Mordecai  had  emptied  an  old  barrel 
in  the  corner,  burning  the  heap  of  odds  and  ends 
which  had  accumulated  since  his  return.  But  now  as 


THREE  AT  GRACE  121 

he  stood  behind  the  table  he  held  in  his  hand  three 
black  books  and  a  faded  napkin  which  he  could  not 
bring  himself  to  destroy.  As  he  stood  there  with  the 
rays  of  the  setting  sun  falling  through  the  open  door 
on  his  shaggy  white  head,  old  memories  burned  in 
his  faded  eyes  and  a  strange,  dreamy  smile  played 
about  his  mouth. 

"I  have  found  the  books — it  is  time  for  them  to 
come  and  say  'grace',"  he  murmured  to  himself.  "I 
have  put  my  house  in  order.  I  know  it  is  time  for 
me  to  go  away — into  the  Great  Wilderness — but  not 
until  we  have  three  at  grace  once  more." 

Carefully  placing  a  book  at  each  place,  he  drew 
up  two  chairs  and  a  box,  spread  the  napkin  at  the 
head  of  the  table  and  set  out  his  few  poor  dishes 
and  humble  evening  meal.  Then  he  took  his  place, 
opened  his  book  and  waited.  The  Hebrew  letters 
seemed  strangely  blurred;  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
his  keen  eyes  failed  him.  But,  glancing  up,  he 
thought  he  saw  his  two  guests,  Lyon  and  Barrett 
in  their  places  waiting  for  him  to  begin  the  blessing 
before  the  meal. 

"I  am  ready,"  he  said,  and  even  as  he  spoke,  his 
head  dropped  upon  the  open  book  and  Mordecai's 
restless  spirit  was  at  rest  forever. 


THE  LUCKY  STONE 

The  Adventures  of  Uriah  P.  Levy,  the  First  Naval 
Officer  of  his  Day 

A  little  brown  sand  piper  scudded  along  the  beach. 
Uriah  Levy,  a  brown-faced  lad  who  looked  several 
years  older  than  a  boy  who  had  just  passed  his  elev 
enth  birthday,  lay  upon  the  shore  and  smiled  to  see 
it  flirt  importantly  past  him  as  though  in  a  tremen 
dous  hurry  to  reach  its  destination.  Then  his  keen 
eyes  turned  toward  the  sea,  blue  and  stainless,  as 
level  as  the  long  looking  glass  in  his  mother's  parlor 
at  home.  Several  sea  gulls  skimmed  the  quiet  wa 
ters,  now  rising  until  their  gray-white  plumage  melted 
into  the  clouds,  now  seeming  to  float  upon  the  tide. 
Uriah  was  a  trifle  sorry  when  they  disappeared  at 
last,  for  he  loved  the  sea  gulls  dearly.  They  seemed 
so  akin  to  him  in  their  wild  freedom,  in  their  love 
for  the  solitary  waste  of  waters.  Ever  since  he  could 
remember,  he,  too,  had  loved  the  sea,  since  the  days 
when  he  was  a  tiny  boy,  sailing  his  paper  boats  to 
strange  ports  across  the  ocean.  And  tomorrow  he 
was  going  to  sea  at  last — a  real  cabin  boy  in  a  real 
vessel !  He  threw  himself  back  upon  the  warm  sands 
and  with  half-closed  eyes  lay  dreaming  of  the  future. 

He  was  aroused  from  his  day  dreaming  by  the 
strange  uneasiness  that  comes  to  one  who  feels  that 
he  is  being  observed.  Sitting  up,  he  saw  that  Ned 
Allison,  a  lad  whose  father  owned  a  fishing  shack 

122 


THE  LUCKY  STONE  123 

near  by,  had  come  down  to  the  beach  and  was  now 
standing  over  him,  his  hands  thrust  into  the  pockets 
of  his  ragged  trousers,  his  bare,  brown  toes  kicking 
among  the  pebbles  at  his  feet.  The  newcomer  was 
a  few  years  younger  than  Levy,  a  grave,  stolid  lad 
with  bright,  restless  eyes. 

"Hello,  Ned,"  Uriah  greeted  him.  "Did  you  know 
I  was  going  to  sea  tomorrow?" 

"No.  You're  lucky."  The  other's  tone  was  de 
lightfully  envious  of  Uriah's  good  fortune.  "I've 
got  to  wait  till  I'm  twelve  or  maybe  fifteen,  I  guess. 
Father's  rheumatism  is  bad  lately  and  I  have  to  help 
him.  How' re  you  going?"  He  sank  beside  Uriah 
on  the  sands  and  gazed  longingly  over  the  blue  wa 
ters. 

"I'm  going  to  ship  as  cabin  boy;  but  I  won't  be 
gone  long."  Uriah  couldn't  help  bragging  a  little  as 
he  told  his  good  fortune.  "I'm  going  to  be  like  Paul 
Jones  and  that  crowd — if  it  takes  a  hundred  years." 

"You'll  be  too  old  then,"  observed  Ned  dryly.  He 
began  to  turn  over  the  heap  of  pebbles  that  lay  be 
tween  them.  "Now  if  you  were  to  find  an  oyster  or 
clam  shell  with  several  big  pearls  you  could  buy  a 
ship  of  your  own  right  now  and " 

"I'd  make  you  first  mate,"  promised  Uriah,  gen 
erously.  Leaning  on  his  elbow,  he  too  began  to  turn 
over  the  pebbles,  for  like  every  boy  of  his  years  he 
never  gave  up  hope  of  finding  an  oyster  shell  thickly 
studded  with  pears,  each  one  milk-white  and  shining 
and  worth  a  king's  ransom.  "Yes,"  he  went  on, 
dreamily,  "I'd  rig  out  a  brig  right  away  and  sail  the 
seas  till  I  got  tired.  First,  I  guess,  I'd  clear  the 


124  THE  NEW  LAND 

Spanish  Main  of  pirates  and  then  I'd  visit  far-off 
countries  across  the  ocean.  Remember  what  old  Cap 
tain  Ferguson  told  us  about  'em;  palm  trees,  and 
naked  black  men  who'll  sell  you  ivory  and  precious 
stones  for  a  string  of  beads  or  a  piece  of  red  cloth? 
That's  what  I'd  do  if  I  had  a  ship  of  my  own." 

"I  think  I'd  rather  go  to  war,"  observed  Allison 
with  equal  seriousness. 

"Of  course  I  If  there  would  only  be  a  war  with 
some  country  or  other,  I'd  like  to  be  captain  of  the 
American  Navy  and  capture  all  the  other  nation's 
vessels  and  tow  'em  into  port."  His  eager  face 
clouded.  "But  I've  heard  my  father  say  that  this 
country's  lucky  to  have  peace  after  the  Revolution; 
that  we  have  to  rest  and  grow  strong.  I  suppose  it 
isn't  any  more  likely  than  either  of  us  ever  finding 
a  pearl  among  all  these  stones."  Suddenly  he  inter 
rupted  himself  with  a  shrill  whistle  of  delight.  "I 
found  a  lucky  stone,"  he  exclaimed,  "a  beauty,"  hold 
ing  it  up  for  Ned's  inspection.  "And  I'm  going  to 
wear  it  for  luck  as  long  as  I'm  a  sailor."  He  took 
a  piece  of  string  from  his  pocket  and  ran  it  through 
one  of  the  holes.  "Maybe,"  he  laughed,  hanging 
the  charm  about  his  neck,  "maybe  this  is  almost  as 
good  as  finding  a  pearl.  Anyhow,  I  don't  care  about 
being  rich  as  long  as  I  can  go  to  sea." 

Uriah  Levy  stood  upon  the  sea  shore,  no  longer 
a  dreaming  boy,  but  a  stalwart  youth  of  twenty.  At 
sixteen  he  already  held  the  position  of  first  mate  after 
becoming  part  owner  of  the  brig,  "Five  Sisters,"  on 
which  he  had  made  five  voyages.  It  had  not  been 
easy  for  a  youth  with  the  down  of  manhood  scarcely 


THE  LUCKY  STONE  125 

visible  upon  his  cheeks  to  rule  a  crew  gathered  in  that 
day  from  the  riff-raff  and  scum  of  the  sailing-ports. 
Yet  the  Jewish  lad,  who  one  day  was  to  make  it  his 
boast  that  he  had  abolished  the  barbarous  custom  of 
corporal  punishment  from  the  United  States  Navy, 
by  resorting  to  force  ruled  without  difficulty  when 
his  lawless  seamen  once  realized  his  courage  and 
the  strength  of  his  fists. 

But  in  the  year  1812  the  times  were  still  wild 
times  upon  the  ocean  and  it  was  no  uncommon  thing 
for  a  law-abiding  crew  to  grow  weary  of  the  re 
straints  of  their  commander,  mutiny  and  follow  the 
sea  after  the  manner  of  the  pirates  who  still  ruled 
the  Spanish  Main.  And  so,  when  Uriah  P.  Levy 
became  master  of  the  schooner,  "George  Washing 
ton,"  not  even  his  iron  discipline  was  strong  enough 
to  withstand  the  plotting  of  several  of  the  bolder 
spirits  of  his  crew.  Almost  under  his  very  eyes,  the 
mutiny  had  been  hatched  and  had  grown  to  a  head. 

Standing  upon  the  lonely  sea  shore,  Uriah  re 
called  the  swarthy,  leering  face  of  Sam  Jones,  re 
cently  punished  for  infraction  of  discipline,  and  the 
crooked  smile  of  Martin,  he  who  puffed  everlastingly 
at  his  pipe  and  wore  a  red  handkerchief  for  a  tur 
ban  and  earings  of  heavy  gold.  He  had  known  them 
for  the  ringleaders  in  the  plot  against  him,  even  be 
fore  they  had  seized  command  of  the  vessel  and  taken 
possession  of  the  cabin  that  they  might  hold  coun 
cil  whether  their  master  should  be  spared  or  cast  into 
the  sea. 

"He's  but  a  boy,"  Martin  had  argued.  "Let  him 
go.  Put  him  in  a  boat  and  set  him  adrift.  We're  off 


126  THE  NEW  LAND 

the  coast  of  Carolina  now  and  even  if  he  gets  there 
with  a  whole  skin,  he's  not  likely  to  worry  us  when 
we're  flying  the  black  flag  on  the  Main." 

But  Sam  Jones  had  urged  instant  death.  "Let  him 
walk  the  plank,"  he  suggested,  his  small  eyes  glit 
tering  with  hate.  "He's  only  a  boy,  but  I  tell  you 
I'm  afraid  of  him — sore  afraid." 

Martin  laughed  scornfully,  puffing  at  his  pipe. 
"I'm  willing  to  take  the  risk,"  he  declared,  "though 
it's  no  concern  of  mine.  So  let's  shake  dice  and  the 
man  who  wins  will  say  what's  to  be  done  with  him." 

There  in  the  dimly  lighted  cabin,  Levy  with  his 
arms  bound  behind  him,  had  watched  the  game  of 
dice  as  calmly  as  though  his  life  did  not  lie  in  the 
hands  of  the  two  who  played  for  such  a  ghastly  stake. 
Out  on  the  deck,  the  mutineers  drank  and  jested  and 
sang  uproariously  in  their  new  freedom.  He  won 
dered  if  that  were  to  be  the  end:  a  short  plank,  a 
blow  to  thrust  him  into  the  dark  waves  of  the  ocean 
which  he  had  loved  so  well.  Uriah  closed  his  eyes, 
swaying  a  little ;  but  he  was  quite  calm,  even  smiling, 
when  Jones  sneered  in  disgust: 

"Born  to  hang,  will  never  drown.  You  win,  Mar 
tin."  He  pushed  the  dice  aside  and  rose  to  release 
Levy  from  his  bonds.  "Here  you,"  he  called  to  sev 
eral  sailors  loitering  near  the  door,  "get  a  small  boat 
ready  and  set  him  adrift." 

"And  put  in  a  pair  of  oars,"  added  Martin.  "Give 
the  lad  a  fighting  chance,  can't  you?  And  some  bread 
and  a  jug  of  water,  too."  Somehow  he  felt  sud 
denly  uncomfortable  before  the  boy's  quiet  gaze. 
"Aren't  you  going  to  thank  me?"  he  half  blustered. 


THE  LUCKY  STONE  127 

"I  am  an  American  gentleman,"  answered  Levy, 
very  slowly,  "and  I  hold  no  speech  with  outlaws 
and  pirates."  And  before  the  astonished  mutineer 
could  answer  him  he  followed  the  sailors  from  the 
cabin. 

And  now  his  perilous  journey  was  over  at  last,  al 
though  his  frail  boat  had  been  destroyed  on  the  rocks 
before  he  reached  the  shore.  An  excellent  swimmer, 
Levy  had  stripped  off  his  shoes  and  coat  and  jumped 
into  the  water.  Cleaving  the  waves  with  long  power 
ful  strokes,  he  soon  reached  land,  where  for  several 
hours  he  lay  wet  and  exhausted,  so  bitterly  discour 
aged  that  he  almost  wished  Jones  had  prevailed  and 
cut  his  throat  or  forced  him  to  walk  the  plank.  Better 
to  have  fallen  asleep  beneath  the  waves,  he  thought, 
than  try  to  live,  a  hopeless  and  a  defeated  man. 

It  was  now  past  sunset  and  Levy  mechanically  set 
about  building  a  fire  to  warm  his  aching  limbs  and 
keep  off  any  prowling  beasts  while  he  slept.  Scoop 
ing  a  hollow  in  the  sand  beyond  the  reach  of  the 
tide,  he  gathered  dry  drift  wood  which  he  finally 
lighted  by  the  aid  of  a  spark  struck  from  two  stones. 
He  was  hungry  now  and  even  more  anxious  for  a 
smoke  than  for  food;  at  that  moment  he  hated  the 
crew  less  for  making  off  with  the  vessel  in  which  he 
had  had  a  third  interest  than  for  casting  him  on  this 
deserted  shore  without  even  the  solace  of  his  evening 
pipe.  Muttering  angrily,  he  leaned  over  the  fire  to 
stir  the  blaze;  as  he  did  so  the  damp  string  about 
his  neck  swung  free  and  he  noticed  the  little  lucky 
stone  still  fastened  to  the  end. 

Strangely  enough,  the  sight  of  the  pebble  he  had 


128  THE  NEW  LAND 

worn  as  a  charm  for  so  many  years  gave  him  courage. 
His  bold  spirit  which  for  a  little  while  had  lain 
bruised  and  discouraged  grew  strong  again;  he  felt 
that  he  was  not  the  man  to  submit  tamely  to  treachery 
and  misfortune.  He  must  win  back  all  that  he  had 
lost  that  day,  not  only  the  stolen  vessel  but  his  self- 
respect.  He  must  not  allow  himself  beaten.  Crouch 
ing  by  the  fire,  his  chin  resting  on  his  clenched  fists, 
his  eyes  on  the  flames,  the  boy  vowed  not  to  rest  until 
he  had  defeated  his  enemies  and  secured  what  was 
his  own.  "I'm  strong  and  young,"  he  told  himself, 
confidently,  "and  so  far  my  luck  has  never  failed  me." 
And  he  fingered  the  little  stone  on  the  string  about 
his  neck.  At  last  the  fire  died  down,  but  there  was 
no  one  to  stir  the  dying  embers,  for  Uriah  Levy  had 
fallen  asleep  upon  the  sands,  the  luck  stone  still 
clutched  between  his  strong,  brown  fingers,  a  confident 
smile  upon  his  lips. 

In  the  days  that  followed,  it  was  not  an  easy  thing 
for  young  Levy  to  smile  confidently  in  the  faces  of 
those  who  predicted  certain  failure  in  his  undertak 
ing.  "Other  merchants  and  commanders  have  suf 
fered  from  pirates  and  mutinous  crews  before  your 
day,"  he  was  informed  at  every  turn.  "Better  ship 
again  and  look  for  better  luck." 

Kindly  and  well-meant  advice,  but  Levy  would  have 
none  of  it.  He  still  smiled,  though  now  somewhat 
grimly,  as  he  went  from  friend  to  friend,  insisting 
that  he  would  not  fail  to  bring  his  piratical  crew  to 
justice.  And  so  confident  was  he  that  he  would  even 
tually  find  a  backer,  that  he  even  spent  several  days 
roaming  about  the  wharves  in  order  to  pick  out  a 


THE  LUCKY  STONE  129 

trustworthy  crew,  should  he  find  anyone  willing  to 
send  him  to  sea  on  his  own  vessel  again. 

"Why,  Uriah  Levy,"  exclaimed  a  deep  voice  as 
a  stout  sailor  came  toward  him.  "You  surely  haven't 
forgotten  me?" 

"You're  Ned  Allison,"  said  Levy  after  a  long  look 
had  convinced  him  that  the  slender  fisher  boy  had 
grown  into  the  burly  man  before  him.  "And  do  you 
follow  the  sea  now  as  you  planned?" 

"Yes.  My  poor  father  died  two  years  ago.  So  I 
sent  mother  to  live  with  her  sister  and  here  I  am.  I 
just  hit  port  last  week  and  now  I'm  ready  to  leave 
again  as  soon  as  I  find  a  good  berth.  Just  can't  feel 
at  home  on  dry  land  anymore." 

Levy  nodded  understandingly.  "Take  me  to  a 
good  tavern  around  here,"  he  suggested.  "I  want  to 
talk  to  you." 

Allison  willingly  led  the  way  to  a  tavern  in  the 
neighborhood  much  frequented  by  sailors,  chatting 
lightly  as  they  walked.  Levy  hardly  knew  him  for 
the  shy,  taciturn  playfellow  of  his  boyhood.  He  sip 
ped  his  ale  slowly  as  he  studied  Ned's  bright,  eager 
face.  Somehow  he  felt  encouraged  at  the  thought 
that  he  might  induce  Allison  to  accompany  him, 
should  he  set  out  on  what  seemed  to  be  a  hopeless 
voyage. 

"And  what  have  you  been  doing?"  asked  Allison, 
pausing  for  breath.  "The  last  I  heard  of  you,  you 
were  master  of  the  'George  Washington'  and  part 
owner.  Not  that  you  look  very  lively  and  prosper 
ous,"  he  added  with  a  keen  glance. 


130  THE  NEW  LAND 

Levy  briefly  related  the  story  of  the  mutiny  and 
his  hope  to  pursue  and  punish  his  mutinous  crew. 
"And  I'll  do  it,  too,"  he  added,  passionately. 
"Though  I  suppose  you,  like  the  rest,  think  it's  a 
mad  venture,"  he  ended,  doubtfully. 

Allison  put  down  his  mug  before  replying.  "I 
can't  say  that  I  do,"  he  answered  slowly.  "Though 
it's  risking  a  good  deal  if  you  catch  up  to  the  dogs 
and  they  sink  your  ship  in  the  scuffle.  You  couldn't 
afford  that,  could  you?" 

"I'm  not  thinking  of  the  money  alone,"  insisted 
Levy.  "Nor  of  revenge;  although  I've  been  treated 
pretty  shabbily  and  they'll  pay  for  it,  if  I  live  long 
enough  to  track  them  down.  But  it's  a  matter  of  con 
science  with  me,  too,  Allison.  I'm  going  to  do  my 
share  in  making  the  sea  clean  of  piracy.  Maybe 
there  won't  be  a  war  in  our  time,  though  they  say 
there's  trouble  threatening  with  England,  but  I'll 
serve  my  country  in  this  way  at  least.  Want  to  help 
me?"  and  he  leaned  across  the  table,  looking  straight 
into  Ned's  eyes. 

"I'd  rather  ship  with  you  as  master  than  any  man 
I  know,  Sir,"  answered  Allison,  gravely. 

Less  than  a  week  later,  Uriah  Levy  succeeded  in 
convincing  several  wealthy  friends  of  the  sanity  of 
his  plan.  They  advanced  the  necessary  funds  and 
with  a  carefully  picked  crew  he  started  out  on  a  ves 
sel  of  his  own  with  Allison  as  first  mate  in  pursuit 
of  the  sailors  who  had  cast  him  afloat  near  the  Caro 
lina  shores. 

Of  all  the  tales  Ned  Allison  loved  to  tell  his  grand 
children  when  he  had  grown  to  be  an  old  man,  they 


THE  LUCKY  STONE  131 

clamored  most  for  the  story  of  the  sea  fight  in 
which  Uriah  Levy  conquered  the  pirate  crew  of  the 
''George  Washington."  It  was  a  short  battle,  but 
a  terrible  one,  which  he  fought  a  year  after  the  mu 
tiny;  and  before  the  mutineers  finally  lowered  their 
black  flag  in  token  of  surrender,  a  third  of  the  crew 
lay  dead  or  wounded  upon  the  slippery  decks.  Old 
Martin,  his  pipe  still  between  his  teeth,  lay  among 
the  dead,  but  Sam  Jones,  his  right  arm  hanging  limp 
and  useless  at  his  side,  was  among  the  survivors  who 
were  put  into  irons  when  their  vessel  was  taken  in 
tow  and  Levy  turned  his  face  homeward.  Like  the 
other  mutineers  Jones  never  doubted  what  his  fate 
would  be,  for  those  days  were  hard  days  and  the 
men  who  lived  by  the  sword  knew  only  too  well  that 
at  any  moment  death  by  the  sword  might  be  their 
portion.  Hourly  they  waited  for  Levy  to  pass  judg 
ment  upon  them,  to  hang  them  from  the  yard  arm 
of  the  ship  which  they  had  sailed  under  the  flag  of 
piracy.  While  Levy's  own  crew  grew  impatient  until 
the  first  mate,  Allison,  ventured  to  speak  to  him  of 
the  matter  as  they  sat  in  Levy's  cabin  the  night  after 
the  battle. 

"I  can't  help  wondering,  sir,"  Allison  began,  doubt 
fully,  "why  you  have  said  nothing  so  far  concerning 
the  fate  of  our  prisoners,  since  it  is  practically  in 
your  hands." 

Levy  shook  his  head  as  he  puffed  thoughtfully  at 
his  pipe.  Perhaps  he  was  thinking  of  the  night  when 
Jones  had  threatened  him  with  death  and  laughed 
at  his  helplessness.  "According  to  the  'unwritten 
law'  which  is  made  to  cover  so  many  lawless  acts,  I 


132  THE  NEW  LAND 

have  the  power  to  deal  with  them  as  I  think  fit,"  he 
answered.  "And  I  must  confess  I  was  sorely  tempted 
to  take  the  law  into  my  own  hands  when  I  knew  the 
mutineers  were  in  my  power.  But,"  smiling  a  little, 
"it  is  much  better  to  leave  it  to  the  law  courts  when 
we  reach  port." 

"And  if  they  should  be  acquitted?"  Allison's  eyes 
snapped  with  excitement.  "Sir,  if  I  were  in  your 
place — — " 

"If  you  were  in  my  place,  you  might  not  be  cen 
sured  for  yielding  to  your  desire  for  revenge,"  re 
turned  Levy,  very  quietly.  "But  I — "  his  voice  took 
on  a  tinge  of  bitterness,  "I  am  a  Jew  and  these 
wretches,  no  matter  how  criminal,  would  be  pitied  as 
the  victim  of  a  Jew's  vengeance.  Even  in  America, 
my  dear  Allison,  and  in  spite  of  the  liberal  influence 
of  men  like  Thomas  Jefferson,  it  is  not  always  easy 
to  be  a  Jew." 

The  civil  authorities,  however,  were  entirely  on 
Levy's  side  at  the  trial  and  the  mutineers  were  duly 
tried  and  condemned  to  death.  The  young  sailor  was 
about  to  put  out  to  sea  again,  for  he  longed  for  fur 
ther  adventure,  when  the  outbreak  of  the  war  of 
1812  set  him  a-dreaming  once  more  of  serving  his 
country  upon  the  sea.  In  spite  of  his  youth,  he  was 
commissioned  sailing  master  in  the  United  States 
Navy,  serving  on  the  ship,  "Alert,"  and  later  on  the 
brig,  "Argus,"  which  ran  the  blockade  to  France,  Mr. 
Crawford,  the  American  minister  to  that  country,  be 
ing  aboard.  The  "Argus"  captured  several  Eng 
lish  vessels,  one  of  which  was  placed  at  Levy's  com 
mand;  but  his  triumph  was  short-lived;  recaptured  by 


THE  LUCKY  STONE  133 

the  English,  Levy  and  his  crew  were  kept  prisoners 
of  war  in  England  for  over  a  year. 

Regaining  his  freedom,  Levy  returned  to  America 
to  be  promoted  to  the  rank  of  lieutenant.  It  was  then 
that  he  realized  how  just  had  been  his  complaint  to 
Allison,  for  on  every  hand  those  who  were  envious 
of  his  good  fortune  proved  even  more  malicious  be 
cause  of  his  loyalty  to  his  faith.  Levy  suffered,  too, 
from  the  hatred  of  those  naval  officers  who  looked 
upon  him  as  an  intruder  into  their  ranks.  For,  with 
the  exception  of  a  year's  attendance  at  the  Naval 
School  in  Philadelphia,  he  had  had  no  naval  train 
ing  and  had  worked  his  way  up  from  the  ranks. 
Perhaps  his  long  fight  against  the  practise  of  flogging 
unruly  sailors  helped  to  add  to  the  number  of  his 
enemies,  for  those  in  authority  were  outraged  that 
this  Jewish  upstart  should  criticise  a  custom  so  deeply 
rooted  in  the  traditions  of  the  navy.  Another  man 
of  quieter  temper  might  have  tried  to  combat  the 
prejudice  and  hatred  which  met  him  at  every  turn; 
but  Levy's  nature  was  not  a  patient  one.  When 
raised  to  the  rank  of  captain,  he  felt  that  he  could 
not  allow  the  slanders  of  one  of  his  enemies  to  go 
unanswered;  he  challenged  the  Jew-hater  to  a  duel 
and  caused  his  opponent  to  pay  for  his  insults  with 
his  life. 

Although  the  duel  was  still  recognized  as  an  hon 
orable  means  of  settling  a  controversy  between  gen 
tlemen,  Levy  was  made  to  pay  bitterly  for  his  vindi 
cation.  His  enemies  were  too  strong  for  him.  He 
fought  them  bravely  and  with  his  old  proud  spirit, 
but  when  the  trial  was  over,  Allison  still  serving  in 


134  THE  NEW  LAND 

the  navy,  read  in  one  of  the  newspapers  that  his  old 
master  had  been  court-martialed  and  dropped 
from  the  roll  of  the  United  States  Navy  as  cap 
tain. 

"I  knew  they'd  get  him,"  thought  the  honest  sea 
man.  "Ah,  he  was  too  good  for  them  and  now  they 
put  him  to  shame.  I  couldn't  blame  him  if  he  turned 
against  his  country  when  he's  treated  so  after  all  his 
services.  And  I  wonder  what'll  happen  to  him  if 
he  doesn't  follow  the  sea." 

Allison  was  right  in  suspecting  that  his  old  play 
mate  would  turn  in  his  trouble  to  the  sea  as  a  child 
when  hurt  or  tired  runs  to  its  mother  for  comfort. 
Glad  of  an  offer  to  take  charge  of  an  important  busi 
ness  commission  in  Brazil,  Levy  left  the  United 
States,  hoping  that  the  long  sea  voyage  might  do  a 
little  toward  easing  the  pain  in  his  heart.  But  he 
found  that  he  had  been  mistaken,  although  no  one 
ever  knew  how  deeply  he  suffered  from  the  moment 
he  left  the  land  he  had  sought  to  serve  from  his  boy 
hood.  Disgraced  by  his  country,  tired  and  broken 
in  spirit,  he  spent  endless  hours  in  brooding  over  his 
misfortune.  No  longer  the  commander  of  his  men, 
not  even  a  common  seaman,  he  spent  the  long  days  on 
board  leaning  upon  the  rail,  looking  with  somber  eyes 
upon  the  waves.  His  proud  heart  was  bitter  against 
those  who  had  goaded  him  on  to  his  ruin;  he  felt 
that  there  was  no  justice  for  the  Jew  in  the  whole 
world,  not  even  in  America.  Although  he  had  al 
ready  set  the  wheels  in  motion  for  a  new  trial,  he 
was  confident  that  his  enemies  would  again  prove  too 
powerful  for  him.  It  was  a  hopeless  and  a  heart- 


THE  LUCKY  STONE  135 

sick  man  who  landed  at  last  and  began  his  new  duties 
at  the  Brazilian  Capital. 

Several  days  after  his  arrival,  Uriah  P.  Levy  stood 
by  the  window  of  his  room  reading  a  letter,  his  brows 
knitted  in  thought.  The  note  was  written  on  the 
royal  stationery  and  requested  him  to  appear  the 
next  morning  for  an  audience  with  Emperor  Dom 
Pedro.  Levy  could  think  of  but  one  reason  for  such 
a  strange  command.  Perhaps  the  slanders  of  his  ene 
mies  had  preceded  him  even  to  this  far-off  place; 
perhaps  he  was  already  under  suspicion  and  the  audi 
ence  with  the  emperor  might  lead  to  imprisonment  or 
ejection  from  the  country.  The  thought  of  new  dif 
ficulties  to  encounter  wakened  his  fighting  spirit;  he 
was  strangely  elated  and  the  dreadful  langor  which 
had  seized  him  during  his  journey  disappeared. 

"I  am  ready  for  another  good  fight,"  he  told  him 
self  grimly  as  he  prepared  for  bed.  That  night  for 
the  first  time  since  his  court-martial  he  slept  the  long 
hours  through,  and  he  rested  as  peacefully  as  a  little 
child. 

Dressing  himself  with  his  usual  care  and  Holding 
his  head  as  proudly  as  though  he  still  wore  his  coun 
try's  uniform,  Levy  appeared  at  the  palace  and  was 
immediately  ushered  into  the  emperor's  presence.  His 
quick  eyes,  long  trained  to  notice  the  smallest  detail, 
quickly  took  in  every  feature  of  the  richly  appointed 
room,  noting  even  the  fantastic  carving  of  the  chair 
on  which  the  emperor  sat,  and  one  of  the  rings  he 
wore,  a  flat  green  emerald  with  a  mystic  letter  carved 
upon  it  making  the  jewel,  so  he  judged,  a  sort  of 
talisman.  He  smiled  in  spite  of  himself  as  he  re- 


136  THE  NEW  LAND 

membered  his  own  humble  charm,  the  lucky  stone. 
Perhaps  the  pebble's  usefulness  was  over;  he  could 
hardly  call  his  career  especially  fortunate  just  now. 

Emperor  Dom  Pedro  was  a  man  of  a  few  words. 
He  murmured  a  few  polite  phrases  of  greeting,  asked 
Levy  of  his  voyage  and  whether  he  had  completed 
the  mission  which  had  brought  him  to  Brazil.  "For 
if  you  have,"  he  ended,  "I  may  have  matters  of  in 
terest  to  discuss  with  you." 

"I  am  not  quite  finished  with  the  business  which 
brought  me  here,"  answered  Levy,  "but  naturally  I 
am  honored  by  your  majesty's  request  to  appear  be 
fore  you  and  not  a  little  eager  to  learn  what  mat 
ters  you  may  care  to  discuss  with  me." 

The  emperor  twirled  the  rin-g  with  its  strange  green 
stone  about  his  finger.  "I  have  heard  much  of  you," 
he  returned,  briefly,  "and  I  need  men  of  your  daring 
and  enterprise  in  my  service.  Will  you  take  an  im 
portant  commission  under  the  Brazilian  govern 
ment?" 

For  a  moment  Levy  wavered.  Already  an  exile  in 
spirit,  he  felt  he  did  not  have  the  courage  to  return 
to  his  native  country.  Here  was  an  opportunity  for 
an  honorable  career  which  would  bring  him  position, 
wealth,  all  the  excitement  his  daring  heart  desired. 
Then,  curiously  enough,  as  he  gazed  at  the  emperor's 
ring,  there  flashed  across  his  mind  the  picture  of  a 
brown-faced  boy  upon  the  sands,  a  boy  turning  a  lucky 
stone  in  his  fingers  as  he  dreamed  of  a  glorious  career 
in  the  country  of  his  birth.  He  turned  to  the  em 
peror  and  spoke  quietly,  but  with  his  characteristic  de 
cision. 


THE  LUCKY  STONE  137 

"Your  majesty,"  said  Uriah  Levy,  "I  thank  you. 
But  the  humblest  position  in  my  country's  service  is 
more  to  be  preferred  than  royal  favor."  And  bow 
ing  before  Dom  Pedro,  he  left  the  court. 

Nor  was  Levy's  trust  in  the  justice  of  his  country 
unfounded.  Just  as  he  had  persisted  in  bringing  his 
mutinous  crew  to  punishment,  now  he  showed  the 
same  determination  in  insisting  that  a  court  of  in 
quiry  be  established  to  question  the  justice  of  his 
court-martial.  He  prepared  his  own  defense — 
merely  a  statement  of  his  record  while  in  the  service 
of  his  country — a  record  that  won  his  complete  and 
honorable  acquittal.  Not  only  was  he  restored  to  his 
old  rank  in  the  United  States  Navy,  but  shortly  af 
terwards  he  rose  to  the  advanced  rank  of  commo 
dore. 

When  the  Civil  War  broke  out  he  was  holding  the 
position  of  flag  officer,  the  highest  rank  in  our  navy 
at  that  time.  The  years  had  been  kind  to  the  little 
cabin  boy  and  his  private  inheritance  had  grown  into 
a  considerable  fortune.  He  had  already  purchased 
Monticello,  the  home  of  his  old  idol,  Thomas  Jef 
ferson,  intending  to  preserve  it  as  a  national  shrine, 
and  had  presented  a  statue  of  the  author  of  our 
Declaration  of  Independence  to  the  nation's  Hall 
of  Fame.  Now  he  felt  that  there  was  but  one  cause 
to  which  he  cared  to  devote  his  wealth ;  he  sought  an 
interview  with  President  Lincoln  and  placed  his  en 
tire  private  fortune  at  the  nation's  disposal. 

A  few  days  later,  his  boyhood  friend,  Ned  Allison, 
now  crippled  with  rheumatism  but  with  a  laugh  as 
hearty  and  boyish  as  of  old,  visited  his  former  mas- 


138  THE  NEW  LAND 

ter.  He  found  Uriah  Levy  grown  frail  and  listless, 
the  fires  of  his  youth  beginning  to  burn  low  as  he 
neared  his  seventieth  year.  Te  be  sure  the  commodore 
tried  to  rouse  himself,  asking  after  Ned's  children, 
and  even  laughing  feebly  at  the  latter's  account  of 
his  youngest  grandson,  "named  Uriah  Levy  Allison, 
after  you,  sir,"  who  now  toddled  along  the  beach 
where  the  two  boys  had  searched  among  the  pebbles 
so  long  ago. 

"We  didn't  know  we'd  live  to  see  two  wars,  did 
we,  sir,"  mused  Allison,  "when  we  were  just  lads 
playing  before  my  father's  shack.  Well,  even  if 
we're  past  our  prime  now,  they  can't  say  we  didn't  do 
our  part  back  in  1812,"  and  he  chuckled  a  little  in 
his  pride. 

But  Levy's  eyes  were  sad.  "We  have  lived  a  little 
too  long,  Allison,"  he  said,  gravely  but  without  bit 
terness.  "When  this  war  broke  out  I  tried  to  help 
once  more.  But  my  offer  of  my  entire  fortune — and 
it  was  little  enough  to  offer  my  country — has  been 
refused,  although  I  am  allowed  to  subscribe  to  the 
war  loan.  Yet  money  means  so  little  in  a  time  like 
this.  Whenever  I  hear  the  call  for  volunteers,  I 
am  like  the  old  war  horse  that  is  turned  out  to  grass. 
I  am  an  old  man  now,  nearly  seventy,  and  must  sit 
at  home  by  the  fire.  But  it  hurts  a  little,  Allison;  it 
hurts  a  little." 

For  a  while  there  was  silence  between  them.  When 
Allison  rose  to  go,  Levy  followed  him  to  the  door, 
stopping  a  moment  at  the  drawer  of  his  desk  to  wrap 
a  small  package  which  he  thrust  into  his  old  friend's 
hand. 


THE  LUCKY  STONE  139 

;  'Tis  for  the  boy,  my  name-sake,"  he  explained. 
"The  money  will  buy  him  some  toy — maybe  a  small 
vessel  to  sail  when  the  tide  is  low — and  the  other — ,'* 
he  laughed  a  little  confusedly.  "I  found  the  trifle 
among  some  old  keepsakes  and  papers  the  other  day 
when  I  put  my  affairs  in  order.  Give  it  to  the  boy 
and  tell  him  of  the  day  we  found  it.  And  come 
again  soon,  Allison,  and  talk  over  old  times." 

Out  in  the  street,  Ned  Allison  removed  the  wrap 
pings  from  the  little  package.  It  contained  a  gold 
piece  and  a  lucky  stone  with  a  bit  of  soiled  string  still 
fastened  through  one  of  the  holes. 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  PHILADELPHIA 

The  Story  of  Rebecca  Gratz  and  Washington  Irving 

The  spring  rain  fell  on  the  roof  with  a  gentle  mur 
mur,  tinkling  merrily  as  though  it  were  pleased  to 
hear  the  happy  laughter  of  the  children  playing  in 
the  garret  of  Michael  Gratz's  house  in  Philadelphia. 
Six  children  romped  there  that  Saturday  afternoon  in 
early  springtime,  away  back  in  the  year  1712,  Re 
becca  Gratz,  her  younger  brothers  and  sister  and  the 
one  guest  she  had  invited  to  her  eleventh  birthday 
party,  Matilda  Hoffman,  a  girl  about  her  own  age, 
whose  fair  long  braids  formed  a  striking  contrast  to 
Rebecca's  dusky  curls. 

Just  now  the  merriment  was  at  its  height  for  Re 
becca,  aided  by  Matilda,  was  setting  the  table,  while 
nine-year-old  Rachel  tried  to  amuse  baby  Benjamin 
who  was  making  violent  efforts  to  nibble  at  the  trim 
mings  of  the  birthday  cake.  Joseph  and  Jacob,  fine 
sturdy  fellows  of  seven  and  six,  had  found  a  pair  of 
fencing  foils  in  one  of  the  old  trunks  in  the  corner 
and  were  engaged  in  a  lively  duel,  displaying  such 
recklessness  that  had  their  mother  seen  them  she 
would  have  confiscated  the  weapons  without  delay. 
Perhaps  Rebecca  would  have  stopped  this  dangerous 
play  had  she  not  been  too  busy  with  the  banquet-table 
— really  a  board  placed  upon  two  barrels  and  cov 
ered  with  a  gay  red  scarf  Rachel  had  found  with  the 
fencing  foils. 

140 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  PHILADELPHIA      141 

"It  does  look  nice,"  she  admitted,  viewing  her  ef 
forts  with  her  head  on  one  side  as  Matilda  poured  out 
the  last  glass  of  gooseberry  wine  and  set  it  in  its  place. 
"Only,"  with  a  little  sigh,  "I  do  wish  my  birthday 
hadn't  come  today  so  we  could  have  had  candles  in 
stead  of  those  wax  roses  on  the  cake." 

"Why  couldn't  you?"  Matilda  asked  curiously. 

"It  isn't  right  for  people  to  light  birthday  candles 
on  Shabbas,"  explained  Rachel.  "Jewish  people,  I 
mean,"  she  qualified  as  she  tied  a  napkin  around  Ben 
jamin's  fat  neck  and  deposited  him  in  a  seat  at  the 
table  furtherest  from  the  birthday  cake.  "But  it's 
different  for  you  'cause  you're  not  Jewish." 

"It's  queer  people  are  all  different  and  go  to  dif 
ferent  churches,"  puzzled  Matilda.  "My  mamma 
says » 

But  no  one  ever  heard  her  mother's  opinion  on  the 
subject,  for  Joseph  and  Jacob  on  seeing  Rebecca  take 
her  place  at  the  head  of  the  table  raced  to  their  seats 
with  howls  like  hungry  Indians  at  dinner  time.  For  a 
few  minutes  the  children's  noisy  tongues  were  hushed 
as  the  little  hostess  passed  out  sandwiches  and  jelly 
tarts.  But  when  all  the  plates  were  empty  to  the  last 
crumb  and  only  the  birthday  cake  remained  in  soli 
tary  splendor,  just  beyond  the  reach  of  Benjamin's 
greedy  fingers,  Joseph  remarked  with  a  satisfied  sigh : 

"This  was  just  like  one  of  those  king's  dinners  in 
the  fairy  books.  Like  the  banquet  Esther  gave  the 
king  at  Purim." 

"I  wish  it  was  Purim  again,"  observed  Jacob,  who, 
seeing  that  the  pitcher  was  empty,  began  to  wish 
that  he  had  drunk  his  second  glass  of  gooseberry 


142  THE  NEW  LAND 

wine  a  little  more  slowly.  "Don't  you  remember  last 
Purim,  Becky,  how  you  wore  mother's  old  black 
silk  and  played  you  were  Queen  Esther?  But  Joe 
and  Hyman  took  all  the  good  parts  and  wouldn't  let 
me  be  a  king  or  anything." 

"We  don't  have  to  wait  till  Purim  to  dress  up  and 
play  king  and  queen,"  Rebecca  told  him,  her  brows 
knit  in  her  effort  to  divide  the  pink  and  white  cake 
into  six  slices  of  equal  thickness.  "As  soon  as  we've 
finished  our  cake,  we'll  look  through  those  old  trunks 
over  there.  There're  ever  so  many  dresses  and  things 
from  Austria  and  an  Indian  blanket  and  beads  and 
such  things  and  I  know  mother  wouldn't  care  if  we 
played  with  them  as  long  as  we  put  'em  all  back 
again." 

Joseph  sprang  up,  his  piece  of  frosted  cake  in 
his  hand.  "I  want  the  Indian  stuff,"  he  cried. 

"And  I'll  shoot  you  with  my  gun,"  challenged 
Jacob,  pushing  Rachel  away  from  the  trunk.  "You're 
so  slow,  Rachel,  we'll  never  get  anything  out." 

The  other  children  followed,  all  but  little  Benja 
min.  Benjamin  was  still  too  young  to  be  interested 
in  the  game  of  "dressing  up."  So  he  toddled  about 
the  deserted  table,  picking  stray  crumbs  from  the 
plates  and  turning  over  the  empty  glasses  in  the  hope 
of  finding  a  few  drops  of  gooseberry  wine. 

Strange,  isn't  it,  that  no  matter  how  long  it  takes 
to  get  ready  for  breakfast,  the  slowest  boy  or  girl 
can  button  himself  into  a  make-believe  outfit  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye.  In  an  incredibly  short  time,  the 
five  youngsters  were  dressed,  each  to  satisfy  his  own 
peculiar  taste:  Joseph  as  an  Indian  in  blanket  and 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  PHILADELPHIA      143 

beads,  with  a  crimson  band  about  his  head;  Jacob, 
carrying  a  sword,  wore  a  moth-eaten  smoking  jacket, 
a  bright  sash  and  crimson  Turkish  turban;  Rachel 
and  Matilda  were  two  dainty  ladies  in  full  skirts  of 
blue  and  pink,  with  deep  bonnets;  while  Rebecca  was 
rather  splendid  in  a  yellow  silk  wrapper,  a  long  veil 
fastened  about  her  head  with  a  string  of  pearl  beads 
she  had  found  in  the  treasure  trunk.  Laughing  mer 
rily,  they  all  raced  to  the  long  mirror  which  stood  at 
the  other  end  of  the  garret;  though  cracked  and  dis 
colored  they  were  able  to  distinguish  the  gaily  clad 
figures  within  its  mottled  depths,  more  like  the  quaint 
images  of  an  old  tapestry  than  happy,  romping  chil 
dren  at  play.  Then  they  scattered  to  their  own 
games,  the  boys  to  stage  an  exciting  battle  between  a 
red  skin  and  a  gallant  soldier,  the  little  girls  to  com 
fort  Benjamin,  who,  having  cleared  the  table,  be 
gan  to  howl  dismally  that  he  wanted  to  get  "dwessed, 
too!" 

Laughing  at  his  earnestness,  the  girls  dressed  him 
in  a  bright  dressing  gown  striped  in  red  and  yellow, 
even  providing  him  with  a  cane  "for  a  gun  like 
brother's."  Then,  the  boys  having  grown  tired  of 
their  Indian  warfare,  the  entire  company  began  a  gay 
game  of  blind  man's  buff  which  ended  somewhat 
abruptly  as  it  was  easy  to  tell  at  a  touch  just  who 
was  "caught"  by  the  peculiar  costume  he  wore. 

"Ball — play  ball,"  suggested  little  Benjamin,  wan 
dering  from  the  open  trunk,  a  small  crystal  ball  in 
his  hand. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Joseph,  taking  it  curiously, 
"a  paper  weight  or " 


144  THE  NEW  LAND 

"I  know,"  cried  Matilda,  as  she  examined  the 
crystal  globe.  "My  aunt  has  one  just  like  it — she 
got  it  from  London.  You  do  crystal  gazing  in  it." 

"Crystal  gazing?"  Rebecca  was  frankly  puzzled. 

"Yes.  She  showed  me  how  to  do  it.  You  just 
sit  with  the  ball  in  front  of  you  and  look  into  it  for 
a  long  time  and  don't  think  of  anything  else  and  all 
of  a  sudden  you  see  pictures;  that's  what  aunt  said." 

"What  kind  of  pictures?"  Joseph  demanded. 

"Pictures  of  what's  going  to  happen.  You  see 
just  what  you're  going  to  do  when  you  grow  up." 

"I  don't  believe  that  nonsense,"  declared  Rebecca, 
with  an  emphatic  shake  of  her  dark  curls.  "Father 
says  it's  all  foolishness — like  believing  what  a  gypsy 
fortune-teller  promises  you." 

"Well,  let's  try  it,  anyhow,"  suggested  Rachel. 
"It  won't  do  any  harm  and  it'll  give  us  something  to 
do  till  the  rain's  over  and  we  can  go  out  and  play 
again." 

The  crystal  ball  placed  upon  the  table,  the  five 
dark  and  the  one  flaxen  head  bent  over  it  eagerly. 
"But  we'll  never  see  anything  this  way,"  corrected 
Matilda.  "It's  Rebecca's  party,  so  let  her  have  the 
ball  first.  No  one  else  must  look  or  say  a  single  word 
till  she's  seen  her  picture." 

Cheeks  flushed  with  excitement,  shining  dark  eyes 
fastened  upon  the  crystal,  Rebecca  sat  motionless, 
scarcely  daring  to  breathe  as  she  wainted  for  the  pic 
ture  of  her  future  to  appear  in  the  glass.  The  others 
clustered  about  her,  expectant  and  silent.  At  last 
she  shook  her  head  and  pushed  the  ball  aside.  "I 
can't  see  a  single  thing,"  she  complained. 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  PHILADELPHIA      145 

"But  I  want  to  try  it,"  declared  Jacob,  reaching 
for  the  crystal.  "Now  all  keep  quiet  and  maybe  I'll 
see  something,  even  if  Becky  couldn't." 

Again  patient  waiting  until  Jacob  got  up  in  dis 
gust.  "It's  a  silly  game,"  he  jeered.  "Maybe  your 
aunt  could  see  things  in  an  old  glass  ball,  but  nobody 
else  can." 

"It's  more  fun  just  playing  'pretend',"  declared  his 
sister  Rachel.  "Let's  do  it."  She  flung  herself  upon 
an  old  fur  rug  near  the  window,  pulling  Benjamin 
down  beside  her.  "We'll  just  sit  in  a  circle  and  pre 
tend  we've  looked  in  the  glass  ball  and  it  told  us  just 
what  we  were  going  to  do  when  we  grow  up.  I  want 
to  tell  my  fortune  first,"  she  ended  importantly. 

"That's  a  silly  girl  game,"  objected  Jacob;  but, 
tired  of  romping,  he,  too,  threw  himself  upon  the  rug 
and  waited  with  the  rest  of  the  circle  for  Rachel 
to  disclose  her  future. 

"When  I'm  grown  up,"  began  Rachel  very  slowly, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  trees  beyond  the  window,  drip 
ping  with  rain,  "I'm  going  to  be  very  beautiful  like 
Miss  Franks  in  New  York  used  to  be,  and  go  to  par 
ties  and  balls  every  single  night  and  have  all  the 
officers  in  the  army  writing  poetry  about  me  and 
making  toasts  for  me,  just  as  she  did.  And  I'll  al 
ways  wear  pink  silk,"  she  concluded,  with  a  glance 
at  her  rosy  ruffles. 

"I  should  think  you'd  get  awfully  tired  of  balls 
every  night,"  observed  Matilda.  "I'd  much  rather 
be  like  my  governess.  She  isn't  pretty  at  all  but  she 
knows  just  everything  and  she  writes  verses,  too. 
When  I  grow  up,  I'm  going  to  write  a  whole  book 


146  THE  NEW  LAND 

and  everybody  will  say  how  smart  I  am."  She  spoke 
very  seriously  and  the  others  looked  at  their  am 
bitious  little  friend  respectfully.  Happy  children  as 
they  were,  they  could  not  read  the  future  and  see 
that  Matilda  Hoffman,  although  one  of  the  most  ac 
complished  young  women  of  her  time,  would  never 
write  the  wonderful  book  of  which  she  dreamed. 
Nor  could  they  guess  that  instead  her  lovely  life 
would  be  an  inspiration  to  a  writer  whose  books  every 
American  would  come  to  know  and  cherish. 

"And  I'm  going  'way  west  to  the  lands  father's 
just  bought,"  declared  Jacob,  "and  live  with  the  In 
dians  and  wear  a  blanket  and  go  hunting  all  the 
time." 

"And  I'm  going  with  you,"  piped  Benjamin,  not 
understanding  what  the  game  was  about,  but  de 
termined  not  to  lose  any  of  the  fun.  Though  some 
thing  of  that  afternoon's  pretending  came  to  pass  for 
him,  for  when  a  man  he  actually  sought  what  was 
then  the  far  western  territory  of  Kentucky  and  be 
came  one  of  the  leading  citizens  of  Lexington. 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  be  a  merchant  like  father," 
Joseph  spoke  with  his  usual  grave  determination, 
never  dreaming  of  the  day  when  he  would  become  a 
senator.  "And  what  are  you  going  to  do,  Becky?" 

Rebecca  considered  for  a  moment.  Although  older 
than  the  others,  this  child's  play  was  very  fascinating 
to  her.  "The  other  day,"  she  said  slowly,  "I  had 
the  legend  of  St.  Elizabeth  for  my  French  lesson. 
I  think  I'd  like  to  be  just  like  her  when  I  grow  up." 

"Was  she  beautiful  and  everything  like  that?" 
asked  Rachel. 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  PHILADELPHIA      147 

"I  suppose  so."  Rebecca's  voice  had  grown  rather 
dreamy.  "The  ladies  in  stories  always  are  beauti 
ful,  aren't  they?  But  I  liked  her  because  she  went 
about  doing  good  among  the  poor  peasants,  even  if 
her  mean  husband  wanted  her  to  stay  at  home." 

"Did  he  ever  find  out?"  asked  Jacob. 

"Once  he  thought  he  did."  Rebecca  smiled  at  the 
recollection.  "She  was  going  through  the  castle  court 
yard  with  a  basket  on  her  arm  and  some  one  told 
him  she  was  taking  bread  to  the  poor  people.  He 
was  very  angry  and  ran  after  her  and  asked  her 
what  was  underneath  the  napkin  on  her  basket.  You 
can  just  imagine  how  frightened  she  was !" 

"Did  she  tell  him?"  Matilda  wanted  to  know. 

"I  suppose  she  was  so  frightened  she  just  didn't 
know  she  was  telling  a  lie,"  Rebecca  excused  her  hero 
ine,  "and  before  she  knew  what  she  was  saying,  she 
told  her  husband  that  she  was  carrying  roses.  And 
it  was  in  the  middle  of  the  winter,  too !  And  when 
he  snatched  the  napkin  off  the  basket — "  the  story 
teller  paused  impressively,  "what  do  you  suppose  he 
found  there  ?" 

"Bread,"  chorused  her  listeners. 

"No!"  Rebecca  shook  her  curls.  "Because  she 
was  so  good,  God  saved  her  from  telling  a  lie  and 
her  basket  was  filled  with  beautiful  red  roses.  And 
when  her  husband  saw  how  much  God  thought  of  her, 
he  became  good,  too,  and  tried  to  help  Elizabeth  care 
for  all  the  poor  people  in  the  country." 

"She  must  have  been  very  rich  to  help  so  many 
poor  people,"  observed  Joseph. 

"Oh,  she  was  a  real  princess  and  I  guess  all  prin- 


148  THE  NEW  LAND 

cesses  have  plenty  of  money,"  answered  his  sister 
easily. 

"Then  you  can  be  just  like  her,  if  you  want  to," 
the  admiring  Matilda  assured  her.  "Your  papa's  one 
of  the  richest  men  in  Philadelphia,  I  guess,  and  you're 
beautiful  like  Elizabeth  and  with  that  long  veil  and 
those  pearls  you  look  just  like  a  real  princess  this 
minute,  doesn't  she,  Rachel?" 

"Let's  play  the  princess  in  the  tower?"  cried  Jo 
seph,  springing  up,  already  weary  of  the  game. 
"Becky,  you  get  on  top  of  that  trunk  and  we'll  put 
chairs  around  it  and  play  it's  a  high  tower  and  Jacob 
and  I  will  be  princes  and  come  and  rescue  you  and 
take  you  away  on  our  horses — the  way  they  did  in 
the  fairy  boolc  you  read  us  the  other  day." 

"But  what'll  we  be?"  cried  Rachel  and  Matilda  to 
gether. 

"You  can  be  her  ladies-in-waiting  or  something," 
Joseph  decided,  "and  Benjamin  can  be  our  page  and 
hold  our  horses  while  we  climb  into  the  tower."  He 
straddled  one  of  the  fencing  foils  and  pranced  across 
the  room.  "A  rescue !"  he  called  shrilly  to  his  broth 
ers,  "a  rescue  for  the  lovely  Princess  Rebecca." 

Hyman  Gratz,  Rebecca's  sixteen-year-old  brother, 
entering  the  room  at  that  moment,  smiled  at  their 
sport.  Swinging  Benjamin  to  his  shoulder  he  ad 
vanced  toward  the  tower  which  sheltered  the  three 
lovely  ladies  and  pulled  Rebecca's  face  down  to  his 
for  a  kiss.  "Having  a  happy  birthday?"  he  asked. 

"Just  splendid."  Rebecca's  eyes  danced  with  hap 
piness.  "We're  playing  the  princess  in  the  tower 
and  I'm  the  princess." 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  PHILADELPHIA      149 

Hyman,  his  face  suddenly  grave,  looked  over  the 
happy,  dancing  figures  in  their  fantastic  dresses.  Al 
though  he  did  not  know  why,  he  wished  at  that  mo 
ment  that  the  children  playing  in  the  old  attic  need 
never  grow  up,  but  might  always  be  carefree  and 
laughing  in  their  idle  games.  His  eyes  lingered  long 
est  on  Rebecca,  such  a  dainty  little  princess  in  her  yel 
low  silk  and  pearls  and  he  sighted  a  little.  But  all  he 
said  was:  "If  I  were  you  youngsters,  I'd  play  in  the 
garden.  The  rain's  all  over  and  there's  a  fine  rain 
bow  just  behind  the  old  chestnut  tree." 


Washington  Irving  sat  crouched  in  one  of  the  great 
arm  chairs  of  the  drawing  room  in  Mr.  Gratz's  house 
in  Philadelphia.  His  elbow  on  his  knee,  he  sat  with 
his  hand  shading  his  face,  his  eyes  seeking  the  floor. 
When  Rebecca  Gratz  entered  the  room,  he  seemed 
about  to  rise,  but  with  a  gesture  she  urged  him  to 
remain  seated  and  took  a  chair  beside  him.  For  a 
long  time  they  sat  there  in  silence,  Rebecca's  hands 
twisting  a  small  package  that  lay  in  her  lap,  her  face 
pale  and  tired,  her  dark  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

Sitting  there  with  the  soft  candle  light  falling  upon 
her  simple  blue  dress  and  white  arms,  she  made  a 
picture  which  young  Irving  would  have  appreciated 
at  any  other  moment.  The  slim  little  princess  of  the 
nursery  had  grown  into  a  graceful  young  girl  of  grac 
ious,  yet  dignified  bearing,  her  abundant  hair  brushed 
simply  back  from  her  forehead,  the  gravity  of  her 
sweet  face  increased  by  the  earnestness  that  never  left 


150  THE  NEW  LAND 

her  large  dark  eyes,  even  when  she  smiled.  For  even 
in  her  gayest  moments  there  was  always  a  hint  of 
gentle  gravity  about  Rebecca  Gratz;  tonight,  when 
utterly  exhausted  from  watching  at  the  deathbed  of 
her  childhood  friend,  Matilda  Hoffman,  she  looked 
like  a  beautiful  graven  image  of  Sorrow. 

At  last  Rebecca  spoke,  her  low  voice  tremulous 
with  tears :  "The  end  was  very  easy — God  was  good 
to  her  at  the  last.  And  I  do  not  think  she  suffered 
much  lately.  Matilda  just  seemed  to  fade  away,  not 
like  one  ill,  but  very  tired.  She  often  spoke  of  you 
when  we  were  together;  that  is  why  I  asked  brother 
Hyman  to  send  for  you.  .1  thought  you  would  like 
to  hear  it  all  from  me." 

The  young  man  in  the  arm  chair  shifted  a  little. 
"Yes,  I  would  like  to  hear  everything  from  you," 
he  answered,  not  trusting  himself  to  meet  her  eyes. 

Simply,  tenderly,  Rebecca  told  young  Irving  of 
the  last  illness  of  the  young  girl  whom  he  had  hoped 
to  marry.  Now  and  then  her  voice  broke,  for  she 
had  loved  Matilda  Hoffman  dearly;  but  she  went 
bravely  on  until  the  end,  when  she  placed  the  little 
package  in  Irving's  hand.  "She  said  I  was  to  give 
you  this,"  she  told  him,  and  looked  away  while  he 
opened  the  cord  with  fingers  that  trembled  a  little. 

The  tokens  that  Washington  Irving  now  gazed 
upon  with  tear-dimmed  eyes  and  which  were  never 
to  leave  his  possession  during  all  the  years  when  he 
was  to  acquire  fame  and  wealth  as  America's  lead 
ing  author  were  a  little  prayer  book  and  Bible.  Be 
tween  the  pages  of  the  latter  the  dead  girl  had  placed 
a  lock  of  her  bright  hair;  as  he  raised  the  worn  little 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  PHILADELPHIA      151 

book  several  faded  rose  leaves  fell  upon  the  carpet 

"I  pressed  one  of  the  roses  from  her  coffin  for 
you,"  Rebecca  told  him.  "I  did  not  think  it  would 
fade  so  soon." 

"There  was  a  long  silence  between  them,  then,  the 
two  books  pressed  again  his  cheek,  the  young  man 
burst  into  a  fit  of  passionate  weeping.  "It  was  not 
right,"  he  cried  fiercely.  "She  was  so  good  and 
beautiful  and  young.  And  we  would  have  been  so 
happy  together.  It  was  not  right  that  she  should 
die." 

"I  know — I  loved  her,  too,"  said  Rebecca  gently. 

He  turned  upon  her  almost  angrily.  "You  can 
never  know.  I  was  her  lover;  you  were  only  her 
friend." 

"  'The  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness',"  quoted 
the  girl  softly. 

But  Irving  impatiently  shook  off  the  pitying  hand 
she  had  dropped  upon  his  arm,  "What  do  you  know 
of  sorrow?"  he  demanded.  "You  have  everything 
your  heart  can  desire;  wealth,  youth,  beauty,  friends 
. — I  have  no  one." 

"And  with  all  my  gifts  I  am  more  unhappy  than 
you,"  Rebecca  persisted.  "For  I  have  not  even  the 
memory  of  a  happy  friendship  and  love  like  your's 
to  bring  me  comfort  now." 

For  a  moment  Irving  forgot  his  own  grief.  "I 
do  not  understand,"  he  murmured. 

She  smiled  sadly.  "You  will  not  repeat  this,  I 
know,"  she  told  him  quietly.  "Only  my  own  family 
know,  but  you  have  been  such  a  close  friend  of  my 
brother's  that  my  secret  is  safe  with  you.  I  have 


152  THE  NEW  LAND 

loved — and  been  loved — by  a  young  man  who  was 
all  my  parents  could  desire  for  me.  But  last  month 
he  went  away  and  I  shall  never  see  him  again." 

For  the  first  time  that  evening  Irving's  eyes  met 
her's.  The  girl's  glance  was  sad  but  very  brave.  "I 
do  not  understand,"  he  repeated. 

Again  she  smiled  sadly.  "You  know  how  liberal 
my  family  have  always  been  in  their  religious  opin 
ions.  We  have  always  mingled  freely  with  non- 
Jews;  Matilda,  although  not  a  Jewess,  was  my  dear 
est  friend.  In  fact,  a  number  of  my  relatives  have 
married  outside  our  faith.  "She  broke  off  a  mo 
ment.  "The  young  man  was  not  a  Jew,"  she  said 
slowly.  "He  loved  his  religion  as  well  as  I  did 
mine.  It  was  very  hard  to  have  him  go  away."  She 
leaned  toward  Washington  Irving  and  lightly 
touched  the  two  little  books  she  had  given  him.  "You 
have  lost  your  joy,  too,"  she  said,  and  now  her  clear 
tones  trembled  a  little.  "Neither  of  us  can  ever 
be  very  happy  again.  We  will  both  be  so  lonely 
sometimes,  that  I  think  we  must  learn  to  be  very  good 
friends,  don't  you?"  And  Irving  pressed  her  hand 
in  silence. 

It  was  a  more  portly  Irving,  the  Irving  with  the 
bright  eyes  and  kindly  smile  which  we  have  learned  to 
associate  with  the  author  of  "Rip  Van  Winkle"  and 
"The  Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow,"  that  waited  for 
Rebecca  Gratz  in  the  drawing  room  of  her  father's 
home  about  ten  years  later.  Since  the  death  of  Ma 
tilda  Hoffman,  he  had  grown  to  be  a  very  close 
friend  of  the  Gratz  family,  never  failing  when  in 
Philadelphia  to  visit  their  home  where  he  might 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  PHILADELPHIA      153 

"roost,"  as  he  put  it,  in  the  large,  comfortable  guest 
room.  He  had  never  referred  to  his  intimate  con 
versation  with  Rebecca  when  she  had  tried  to  com 
fort  him  after  Matilda's  death;  yet  their  mutual 
grief  and  confidence  had  created  a  strong  bond  be 
tween  them,  and  when  Irving  returned  from  an  ex 
tended  trip  abroad,  he  welcomed  the  opportunity  of 
going  to  Philadelphia  to  see  his  latest  book  through 
the  press.  For  he  longed  to  visit  Miss  Gratz,  who, 
so  the  home  letters  had  informed  him,  had  grown  to 
be  a  famous  beauty  and  belle  during  his  absence. 

She  came  into  the  room  with  her  swaying,  graceful 
carriage  of  old  days,  but  with  a  new  dignity  and  re 
serve  of  manner,  carrying  her  lovely  head  with  just 
a  little  more  pride  than  in  her  girlhood,  greeting  Irv 
ing,  for  all  her  warm  friendliness,  like  a  young  queen 
graciously  ready  to  accept  homage  from  her  sub 
jects.  She  sank  into  a  low  chair  beside  the  fire,  the 
flames  casting  a  warm  glow  over  her  arms  and  neck 
from  which  her  gold  colored  scarf  had  slipped  at  her 
entrance.  Irving  thought  of  another  night  ten  years 
ago  when  she  had  sat  in  that  very  chair  with  the 
candle  light  falling  upon  her  blue  draperies.  Then 
she  had  been  a  lovely  girl  just  on  the  threshold  of 
life;  now  she  was  a  cultured,  well-poised  woman  of 
the  world,  crowned  by  virtue  of  her  beauty  and  posi 
tion  as  the  ruler  of  the  society  in  which  she  moved. 
He  sighed  a  little  and  suddenly  felt  that  he  was  grow 
ing  old.  For  a  while  they  spoke  of  what  had  oc 
curred  during  Irving's  absence  from  America,  the 
countries  the  young  author  had  visited,  the  great 
men  he  had  met  on  his  travels.  Finally  he  told  her 


154  THE  NEW  LAND 

of  his  visit  to  Sir  Walter  Scott,  "days  of  solid  en 
chantment,"  he  described  them,  from  the  moment 
when  the  famous  author  had  limped  down  to  the 
gate  of  his  estate  in  Scotland  to  welcome  him,  his 
favorite  stag  hound  leaping  about  him,  as  he  grasped 
his  guest's  hand. 

"We  spent  much  of  our  time  in  long  rambles  over 
the  hills,"  Irving  continued,  "Scott  telling  me  legends 
of  the  countryside  as  only  he  could  tell  them.  And  in 
the  evenings  we  would  sit  like  medieval  barons  be- 
for  the  blazing  logs  in  the  great  dim  hall  at  Abbots- 
ford  and  there  would  be  more  stories  and  confidences 
until  long  after  midnight.  Ah,  Rebecca,  it  was  worth 
a  trip  across  the  Atlantic,  just  to  touch  his  hand." 

She  leaned  toward  him,  her  eyes  sparkling.  "How 
I  would  like  to  know  him — not  only  his  books,  which 
I  love  so  much,  but  the  real  man  in  his  home,"  she 
cried. 

Irving  smiled  mysteriously.  "You  may  not  know 
him,  but  he  knows  you  well,  my  lady.  I  told  him 
of  my  American  friends,  your  brother  Hyman  among 
them,  and,  surely,  I  could  not  omit  you,  another  hero 
ine  to  hang  in  his  gallery  of  fair  ladies  of  romance." 

Rebecca  shook  her  head,  smilingly.  "But  I  am 
not  a  heroine  nor  a  lady  of  romance,"  she  protested. 

"Scott  seemed  to  think  you  were,"  Irving  insisted. 
"I  told  him  of  your  beauty,  your  goodness — well,  you 
can't  deny  them,"  as  she  raised  a  protesting  hand, 
"and  your  loyalty  to  your  people.  He  had  not  fin 
ished  his  novel,  'Rob  Roy,'  then,  but  he  told  me  he 
was  eager  to  write  a  new  romance,  with  the  adven 
tures  of  a  lovely  Jewess  named  Rebecca  to  form  the 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  PHILADELPHIA      155 

silver  thread  of  the  story.  He  has  written  me  from 
time  to  time,"  went  on  Irving,  as  Rebecca  smiled  a 
little  incredulously,  "to  tell  me  how  the  work  pro 
gressed.  Much  of  the  romance  was  dictated  when 
Scott  lay  on  a  couch  too  ill  to  write.  He  tells  me  that 
his  two  secretaries  grew  to  love  the  heroine,  Rebecca, 
as  much  as  he  did,  and  that  once  one  of  them  grew 
so  impatient  to  hear  what  became  of  her,  that  he 
looked  up  from  his  manuscript  and  cried:  'That  is 
fine,  Mr.  Scott — get  on — get  on  P  ' 

"And  did  Mr.  Scott  finally  'get  on'  and  finish  his 
book  with  a  Jewish  heroine?"  laughed  Rebecca. 

Irving  reached  toward  the  table  and  handed  her  a 
package  he  had  placed  there.  She  broke  the  string 
curiously,  a  slow  flush  mounting  her  cheek  as  she  saw 
the  volume,  the  first  to  be  read  by  an  American,  but 
now  in  every  library  in  the  land.  "  'Ivanhoe',"  she 
read  the  title,  softly,  "but,  surely,  I  am  not  in  the 
story." 

"He  sent  me  this  letter  with  the  volume,"  answered 
Irving,  drawing  a  sheet  of  folded  paper  from  between 
the  pages.  "I  brought  it  with  me  because  I  knew  it 
would  interest  you." 

And  Rebecca,  flushing  over  one  of  the  most  beau 
tiful  compliments  ever  paid  an  American  girl,  read: 
"How  do  you  like  my  Rebecca?  Does  the  Rebecca 
I  have  pictured  compare  well  with  the  pattern  given?" 
She  folded  the  paper  and  slipped  it  back  between  the 
pages.  "But,  surely,  I  am  not  in  the  story,"  she  re 
peated.  "I  am  not  a  lady  of  romance,  not  a  real  prin 
cess  since  the  days  little  Matilda  and  Rachel  and  I 
used  to  dress  up  and  pretend  we  lived  in  a  fairy  tale." 


156  THE  NEW  LAND 

Irving's  merry  eyes  softened  at  mention  of  their 
dead  friend.  Then:  "You  are  more  like  a  lady  of 
romance  than  any  woman  I  have  ever  known,"  he  de 
clared  stoutly,  "and  I  have  met  some  of  the  greatest 
ladies  of  all  Europe.  But  none  of  them  seemed  half 
so  much  a  queen  as  you.  No,  I  am  not  flattering  you, 
Rebecca.  Hasn't  your  brother  written  me  of  all 
your  triumphs  in  society,  here  in  Philadelphia,  when 
he  took  you  to  Saratoga  Springs,  when  you  visited 
your  brother  in  Lexington  and  were  treated  like  a 
real  princess  by  everyone  who  met  you  from  Henry 
Clay  down  to  the  negro  slaves?" 

"Oh,  that — "  Rebecca  shrugged  a  little  disdain 
fully.  "I  hope  the  Lady  Rebecca  in  'Ivanhoe'  does 
something  worth  while." 

"She  heals  the  sick  and  comforts  the  suffering;  she 
is  a  great  lady  in  the  real  sense  of  the  word;  lady,  a 
loaf-giver,"  answered  Irving.  "Just  as  you  are,"  he 
concluded,  warmly. 

"What  else  is  there  for  me  to  do?"  said  Rebecca. 
"I  shall  never  build  a  home  of  my  own  or  have  little 
ones  to  love  and  care  for.  So  I  am  glad  to  use  my 
wealth  and  leisure  in  building  other  homes,  in  being 
something  of  a  mother  to  the  little  orphans  of  our 
city." 

"No  matter  whether  they  are  Jew  or  Gentile," 
added  Washington  Irving  who  had  heard  much  of  her 
many  charities. 

"We  have  all  one  Father,"  she  reminded  him, 
gently.  "But,  really,  I  do  not  do  half  that  I  would. 
I  am  not  a  St.  Elizabeth  and  no  miracles  are  wrought 
for  me,"  and  she  smiled  a  little  at  her  childish  ad- 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  PHILADELPHIA      157 

miration  of  the  generous  lady.  "So  I  am  half  afraid 
to  read  what  you  have  brought  me,"  indicating  the 
volume,  "for  I  know  I  shall  be  found  wanting  when 
I  am  cast  in  the  scale  with  the  lovely  Lady  Rebecca." 

"No,  indeed !  She  is  all  that  a  princess  in  romance 
should  be,  but  I  prefer  our  own  Princess  of  Philadel 
phia,"  answered  Washington  Irving,  gallantly. 

The  Princess  of  Philadelphia,  as  the  great  author 
often  called  her,  half  in  jest,  half  in  earnest,  lived  fo 
be  very  old,  surviving  many  members  of  her  family, 
and  the  brilliant  circle  over  which  she  had  long 
reigned  as  a  queen.  But  she  was  not  too  lonely;  the 
young  girls  whom  she  guided  as  an  older  sister,  the 
orphan  children  who  found  in  her  a  second  mother, 
countless  unfortunates,  some  of  them  needing  gold, 
others  a  word  of  hope  and  comfort,  became  her  sub 
jects  and  enthroned  her  in  their  grateful  hearts.  Her 
life,  after  all,  was  a  placid  one.  Unlike  the  Rebecca 
of  the  romance,  she  never  experienced  thrilling  ad 
ventures;  no  duels  were  fought  in  her  names;  no 
gallant  knights  sought  to  save  her  from  her  enemies. 
Yet  even  when  her  marvellous  beauty  faded  and  her 
glossy  hair  became  threaded  with  gray,  she  remained 
as  youthful  as  any  princess  in  a  fairy  tale,  for  she 
never  grew  old  at  heart.  And  little  children,  divin 
ing  the  youth  in  her  soul,  always  felt  that  she  was 
one  of  them. 

It  happened  one  day  that  Rebecca  Gratz  visited 
the  Hebrew  School  she  had  founded  in  Philadelphia, 
the  forerunner  of  our  modern  Jewish  Sabbath  School 
and  the  first  institution  of  its  kind  in  America.  She 
had  not  only  donated  large  sums  of  money  for  its 


158  THE  NEW  LAND 

support,  but  had  helped  to  select  and  plan  text  books 
for  the  students,  even  writing  some  of  the  daily  pray 
ers  to  be  used  by  the  little  Jewish  children  of  her 
native  city.  It  was  her  birthday — the  seventy-fifth — 
and  as  the  gentle-faced  old  lady  passed  down  the 
quiet  corridors,  she  thought  half-tenderly,  half-sadly 
of  the  birthday  party  in  the  garret  so  many  years  ago. 
What  silly  things  children  dream !  she  thought  with  a 
smile.  Matilda  had  written  no  wise  books  and  her 
adventure-loving  brother  had  never  lived  with  the 
Indians.  For  herself — -well,  she  was  not  really  a 
princess  as  Matilda  had  declared  she  ought  to  be, 
but  like  the  Princess  Elizabeth  she  had  been  allowed 
to  go  about  doing  good  among  the  people. 

A  sound  of  stiffled  sobbing  reached  her  ear.  Turn 
ing,  she  saw  a  little  girl  curled  up  in  one  of  the  low 
window  sills,  an  open  book  on  her  lap.  Rebecca 
Gratz  hurried  to  her  and  slipped  a  comforting  arm 
about  the  shaking  shoulders. 

"Tell  me  what  is  the  matter?"  she  whispered. 

The  child  raised  a  wet  face.  "Oh,  it's  you,  Miss 
Gratz,"  she  exclaimed.  "I  know  I'm  just  as  silly,  but 
I  can't  help  it.  I  came  to  the  sad  part  of  the  book 
where  they  want  to  burn  'Rebecca'  for  a  witch  and 
I  just  couldn't  help  crying.  Though  I  know  it's  go 
ing  to  come  out  all  right  in  the  end,"  she  added,  wip 
ing  her  eyes,  "  'cause  story  books  always  do." 

"Yes,  story  books  do,  even  if  real  people's  stories 
don't  always  end  happily,"  agreed  Miss  Gratz,  sitting 
beside  her.  "Do  you  like  the  book,  Helen?" 

"Ever  so  much,  Miss  Gratz.  Miss  Cohen,  my 
teacher,  lent  it  to  me.  And  what  do  you  suppose  she 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  PHILADELPHIA      159 

said?"  She  hesitated  a  moment,  then,  encouraged 
by  the  kind  eyes  looking  down  into  her's,  added  bash 
fully:  "Miss  Cohen  said,  'You  ought  to  enjoy 
'Ivanhoe,'  Helen,  because  a  great  many  people  think 
the  character  of  Rebecca  was  taken  from  our  Miss 
Gratz.'  Is  that  really  true?"  she  ended,  shyly. 

Miss  Gratz  laughed  as  gayly  as  a  child.  "I 
mustn't  tell,"  she  teased.  "Only  it  doesn't  seem 
likely,  does  it?  The  Rebecca  in  the  story  wears  pearls 
and  veils  every  day  and  is  imprisoned  in  a  dungeon 
and  goes  to  the  tournament.  While  I  am  just  a 
plain  old  lady  in  a  bonnet  and  shawl  and  never  do 
anything  more  exciting  than  visit  your  Hebrew 
classes.  So  it's  not  likely  Rebecca  in  the  story  and 
I  are  the  same  person,  is  it?" 

Helen  considered  a  moment,  her  eyes  fastened 
upon  Miss  Gratz's  face.  When  she  spoke  it  was  in 
a  tone  of  deep  conviction.  "Maybe  Miss  Cohen 
wasn't  exactly  right,"  she  admitted,  "but  even  if 
you're  not  a  real  princess,  and  all  that,  you're  just  as 
sweet  and  good  as  Rebecca  in  the  story  book,  any 
how." 


A  PRESENT  FOR  MR.  LINCOLN 

How  President  Lincoln  Set  Out  for  Washington  and 
How  He  Returned. 

Little  Morris  Rosenfelt  stirred  uneasily  on  the 
hard  bench  as  he  tried  in  vain  to  concentrate  his  wan 
dering  thoughts  on  his  Hebrew  lesson.  It  happened 
to  be  all  about  the  building  of  the  Tabernacle  in  the 
wilderness,  but  Morris  was  not  at  all  interested  in 
Bezalel,  the  artist  of  old,  who  built  the  first  sanc 
tuary  for  his  people.  Instead,  although  his  eyes  were 
fastened  to  the  coarse  black  characters  in  the  page  be 
fore  him,  the  boy  was  living  over  again  the  scene 
that  had  passed  in  the  parlor  of  his  father's  house, 
the  night  before. 

Mr.  Abraham  Kohn,  city  clerk  of  Chicago,  had 
dropped  in  to  talk  over  congregational  matters  with 
Morris's  father,  for  Mr.  Kohn  was  one  of  the  early 
presidents  of  Kehilath  Anshe  Ma'arav,  Chicago's 
first  synagogue,  and  one  of  its  most  active  members. 
Morris,  busy  in  the  next  room  with  his  lessons  for  the 
next  day,  had  paid  scant  attention  to  their  conversa 
tion,  until  the  words,  "Mr.  Lincoln,"  and  "flag" 
caught  his  ear.  Then  he  closed  his  geography  with  a 
slam,  for  like  every  other  nine-year-old  boy  of  his 
day,  he  had  heard  much  of  the  "rail  splitter  from 
Illinois,"  as  his  opponents  called  him,  and  shared  his 
state's  enthusiasm  for  the  man  who  had  just  been 
elected  president. 

160 


A  PRESENT  FOR  MR.  LINCOLN          161 

"I'm  glad  we  Jews  did  our  part  in  electing  him," 
said  Mr.  Kohn.  "He  will  make  a  strong  president 
in  these  uncertain  times;  perhaps,  the  only  man  who 
can  keep  this  country  out  of  civil  war  if  the  southern 
states  attempt  to  secede." 

"They'll  not  fight,  especially  as  Mr.  Lincoln  has 
promised  not  to  interfere  with  slavery  in  the  states 
where  it  now  exists,"  Mr.  Rosenfelt  answered  easily. 
He  was  a  stout,  cheerful  man  who  refused  to  borrow 
trouble,  very  unlike  Morris's  mother  who  always  saw 
sorrow  and  accident  for  her  family  hovering  in  the 
near  future.  "With  a  strong  man  like  Mr.  Lincoln 
in  Washington,  we  can  stop  worrying  for  a  while." 

"I  hope  so."  Mr.  Kohn's  voice  was  a  little  doubt 
ful.  "I  hate  to  predict  trouble,  but  I  do  believe  that 
our  candidate  is  going  to  have  a  harder  row  to  plough 
than  any  president  we  ever  had  since  Washington.  I 
was  thinking  of  that  when  I  had  the  verses  printed 
on  the  flag  I  am  going  to  send  him." 

"Oh,  are  you  going  to  send  Mr.  Lincoln  a  flag?" 
cried  Morris,  forgetting  he  was  not  supposed  to  be 
listening. 

His  father  shook  his  head  and  ordered  the  boy  to 
attend  to  his  lessons.  His  reports  are  worse  every 
month,"  he  told  Mr.  Kohn.  "Rabbi  Adler  tells  me 
he  is  a  good  boy,  but  that  doesn't  raise  his  marks  in 
Hebrew  and  arithmetic  and  history,  and  his 
mother " 

"But  I  don't  like  history  about  dead  people," 
objected  the  boy.  "Now  Mr.  Lincoln's  alive — and 
he's  history,  too,  isn't  he?" 

"The  boy's  right,"  laughed  Mr.  Kohn.     "Come 


162  THE  NEW  LAND 

in  here,  Morris,  if  your  father'll  let  you,  and  I'll 
tell  you  all  about  the  flag  I'm  sending  Mr.  Lincoln 
next  week  before  he  leaves  his  home  in  Springfield 
for  Washington."  Morris,  needing  no  second  invi 
tation,  gladly  deserted  his  books  and  slipped  into 
the  parlor,  curling  up  in  one  corner  of  the  horse 
hair  sofa  as  he  attempted  to  be  as  little  in  the  way 
as  possible.  For  he  didn't  want  his  mother,  should 
she  happen  to  come  into  the  room,  to  send  him 
back  to  his  lessons  again. 

"It  is  a  large  American  flag,"  explained  Mr.  Kohn, 
"woven  of  the  finest  silk.  And  across  it  I've  had 
inscribed  in  Hebrew  the  command  given  to  Joshua 
when  he  took  command  of  the  Israelites  after  the 
death  of  Moses."  He  turned  to  Morris,  a  teasing 
twinkle  in  his  eyes.  "I  suppose  you  can  tell  your 
father  what  that  was,"  he  said,  very  seriously. 
"What?"  as  Morris,  really  embarrassed,  shook  his 
head.  "I  thought  you  really  learned  more  in  Rabbi 
Adler's  school.  Suppose  you  get  your  Bible  and 
show  us  how  well  you  can  translate  the  passage." 

Doubtful  of  his  skill  as  translator,  but  sure  that 
kindly  Mr.  Kohn  who  had  been  one  of  the  early 
cantors  of  the  congregation  and  "knew  everything 
about  Hebrew"  would  lend  him  a  hand  at  the  hard 
places,  Morris  turned  to  the  first  chapter  of  Joshua, 
and,  with  a  little  prompting  translated  the  command 
given  to  the  Jewish  leader: 

"Have  I  not  commanded  thee?"  he  read.  "Be 
strong  and  of  good  courage;  be  not  afraid,  neither 
be  thou  dismayed;  for  the  Lord  thy  God  is  with 
thee  whithersoever  thou  goest."  He  looked  up,  his 


A  PRESENT  FOR  MR.  LINCOLN          163 

boyish  spirit  thrilled  with  the  words.  "I  like  that," 
he  exclaimed  naively,  "it's  so — so — alive — not  a  bit 
like  the  Bible." 

"So  that's  what's  written  on  your  flag?"  com 
mented  Mr.  Rosenfelt.  "Well,  no  matter  what  hap 
pens,  I  guess  we  won't  have  to  worry  over  our 
Mr.  Lincoln.  He'll  be  'strong  and  of  good  courage,' 
alright,  and  make  us  glad  we  sent  him  on  to  Wash 
ington.  Morris,  go  into  the  dining  room  now  and 
study  your  lessons.  Are  you  going  to  take  the  flag 
to  Mr.  Lincoln  yourself  before  he  leaves  Spring 
field?"  he  asked,  turning  back  to  Mr.  Kohn,  as 
Morris  unwillingly  went  back  to  his  lessons  for  the 
next  morning. 

"No.  I  can't  leave  my  work  just  now,"  an 
swered  Mr.  Kohn,  who  was  city  clerk.  "But  I'm 
sending  it  with  a  friend  who  will  be  in  Springfield 
before  Mr.  Lincoln  leaves.  I  want  him  to  have  a 
real  going-away  present  to  tell  him  what  the  Jews 
of  Illinois  think  of  their  new  president." 

Then  the  talk  drifted  to  other  matters,  but  Mor 
ris  went  to  bed  his  heart  filled  with  envy  for  the 
man  who  should  take  the  flag  to  Mr.  Lincoln.  He 
knew  that  there  wasn't  the  slightest  chance  for  him 
to  go  to  Springfield;  his  mother  would  remember  all 
the  dreadful  stories  she  had  ever  heard  of  little 
boys  being  kidnapped  while  taking  railway  journeys 
alone;  his  father  would  tell  him  he  couldn't  spare 
the  money  for  such  a  trip  and  that  Morris  couldn't 
afford  to  lose  a  day  of  school.  Then,  if  he  couldn't 
go  to  Springfield,  it  would  be  almost  as  good  to 
send  a  present  to  Mr.  Lincoln  such  as  Mr.  Kohn 


164  THE  NEW  LAND 

planned  to  do — but  what  could  a  little  boy  with  a 
limited  amount  of  pocket  money  send  a  man  just 
elected  to  be  president  of  the  United  States.  He 
even  crept  out  of  bed  very  stealthily,  not  caring  to 
arouse  his  ever-wakeful  mother  in  the  next  room — 
to  look  over  the  treasures  in  the  top  drawer  of  his 
little  dresser;  the  finest  stamp  collection  ever  pos 
sessed  by  any  boy  who  attended  his  school,  he  thought 
proudly;  a  box  of  shells  and  lucky  stones  gathered 
on  the  lake  shore  last  vacation;  a  prize  book  given 
him  at  school  for  perfect  attendance,  which  Morris 
never  cared  to  read,  as  it  seemed  to  be  the  tale  of 
a  very  good  little  boy  who  always  stood  at  the  head 
of  his  class  and  never  disobeyed  his  parents;  a  set 
of  fishing  tackle  discarded  by  his  older  brother, 
Harry.  Treasures,  though  they  were,  Morris  would 
have  sent  any  or  all  of  them  with  Mr.  Kohn's  flag 
as  a  going-away  gift  to  the  new  president,  already 
enshrined  in  so  many  hearts;  but,  boy  though  he  was, 
he  knew  that  a  grown  up  man  would  not  care  for 
his  poor  presents.  He  even  lifted  his  little  blue  bank 
and  rattled  it  softly;  but  he  did  not  take  the  trouble 
to  pry  it  open,  for  he  knew  that  for  all  its  jingling, 
the  pennies  inside  would  not  amount  up  to  more 
than  a  dollar.  Disappointed,  yet  determined  not  to 
let  Mr.  Kohn  outdo  him  in  the  matter,  Morris  crept 
back  to  bed. 

The  next  morning  he  found  his  plans  for  Mr.  Lin 
coln's  present  far  more  fascinating  than  his  lessons 
as  he  sat  in  the  basement  schoolroom  provided  for 
the  children  of  the  congregation.  One  of  the  school's 
non-Jewish  teachers  had  heard  his  history  and  geog- 


A  PRESENT  FOR  MR.  LINCOLN    165 

raphy.  In  a  little  while  Rabbi  Adler  would  take 
the  classes  in  Hebrew  and  German.  Morris  knew 
he  ought  to  prepare  the  lessons  so  shamefully  ne 
glected  the  night  before,  but  he  found  it  difficult  to 
put  his  mind  on  his  task. 

Fortunately  for  him,  he  wasn't  called  upon  during 
the  Hebrew  session  and  managed  to  escape  a  scold 
ing  for  his  lack  of  preparation.  So  he  sat  sedately 
with  his  eyes  glued  upon  the  thick  black  characters, 
while  his  mind  pictured  the  flag  with  the  Hebrew 
lettering  which  was  to  be  sent  to  Springfield.  He 
had  seen  a  good  many  pictures  of  Mr.  Lincoln  and 
now  he  tried  to  imagine  how  the  kindly,  homely 
face  would  break  into  a  smile  at  Mr.  Kohn's  thought- 
fulness.  Then  he  roused  himself  to  listen,  for  now 
the  rabbi  was  saying  something  about  the  lesson  that 
really  interested  him. 

"Of  course,"  said  Rabbi  Adler,  "the  Sanctuary 
Bezalel  built  in  the  desert  wasn't  half  so  beautiful 
as  the  Temple  we  afterwards  raised  at  Jerusalem. 
But  we  were  willing  to  wait.  It  was  always  that 
way  with  our  people — with  every  nation,  too;  we 
must  wait  for  what  is  worth  while  and  if  we  wait 
long  enough  and  work  while  we  are  waiting,  we 
will  finally  achieve  what  we  have  been  striving  for." 
He  paused  for  a  moment,  closing  his  book,  as  he 
looked  over  the  class.  "Has  anyone  a  question  to 
ask  about  the  lesson?"  he  ended,  in  his  usual  way. 

Hardly  thinking  what  he  did,  Morris  shot  his 
hand  up  in  the  air,  then  wished  with  all  his  heart 
that  he  had  not  raised  it,  when  the  rabbi  said :  "Well, 
Morris,  what's  your  question?" 


166  THE  NEW  LAND 

"It's  not  exactly  about  the  lesson,"  confessed  the 
boy,  awkwardly.  "But  when  you  talked  about  wait 
ing  for  something  for  a  long  time,  I  wondered — I — 
how  long  is  a  person  president  of  the  United  States  ?" 
he  ended  desperately,  realizing  how  foolish  his  ques 
tion  must  sound  not  only  to  the  teacher  but  to  his 
fellow  students  as  well. 

If  Rabbi  Adler  failed  to  see  any  connection  be 
tween  the  building  of  the  Sanctuary  and  American 
politics,  he  was  too  kind  to  say  so.  "The  president 
is  elected  for  four  years,"  he  answered,  "although 
sometimes  he  is  reelected  for  a  second  term,  which 
makes  eight  years  in  all." 

"Then  Mr.  Lincoln'll  be  in  Washington  eight 
years,  'cause  everybody  will  want  him  for  two  terms," 
decided  Morris,  loyally,  though  a  little  disappointed 
that  the  plan  which  had  just  occurred  to  him  must 
take  so  long  to  mature. 

"So  you're  a  Lincoln  man,  too?"  smiled  his  teacher. 
He  hesitated  a  moment,  then,  feeling  that  high 
civic  ideals  were  as  necessary  to  his  class  as  Hebrew, 
he  went  on :  "We  who  have  worked  hard  to  elect  Mr. 
Lincoln  feel  that  our  country  is  in  good  hands.  He 
is  not  one  of  our  people,  yet  I  believe  he  is  more 
like  our  Hebrew  prophets  than  any  man,  Jew  or 
non-Jew,  living  today.  None  of  you  boys  may  ever 
be  president,  but  if  you  strive  as  earnestly  as  Mr. 
Lincoln  has  always  done  to  serve  the  right,  I  shall 
be  well  satisfied.  .  .  .  We  will  take  the  next  chapter 
for  tomorrow,"  and  the  lesson  was  over. 

Next  came  the  German  class  and  Morris,  after 
reading  and  translating  his  portion  of  a  German  fairy 


A  PRESENT  FOR  MR.  LINCOLN    167 

tale  quite  creditably,  sank  back  in  his  place,  again 
busy  with  his  plans.  Rabbi  Adler  was  right,  he  de 
cided.  If  one  just  worked  and  waited,  everything 
would  turn  out  all  right.  So  Mr.  Lincoln  would 
be  gone  for  four  years,  perhaps  eight.  Well,  since 
a  Jewish  gentleman  had  sent  him  a  going-away  pres 
ent,  wouldn't  it  be  a  fine  thing  for  a  Jewish  boy 
to  send  him  some  gift  when  he  returned  to  his  home 
in  Springfield?  Morris  wasn't  sure  just  what  the 
gift  would  be,  but  he  was  no  longer  worried.  Even 
four  years  were  not  long  to  wait,  especially  if  one 
had  to  save  a  good  deal  of  money  in  the  interval. 
For  Morris  was  sure  that  he  would  have  to  send 
a  really  expensive  present;  perhaps  a  gold  watch, 
which  at  that  particular  moment  was  the  one  thing, 
next  to  a  Shetland  pony,  he  most  desired  for  him 
self. 

The  four  years  passed  for  Morris,  now  slowly 
when  lessons  were  long  and  hard,  now  all  too  swiftly 
during  the  holiday  seasons.  They  were  years  of 
struggle  for  the  nation  now  torn  asunder  by  a  dread 
ful  civil  war.  Even  from  the  first,  Morris  was  not 
too  young  to  understand  the  history  that  was  being 
made  about  him;  the  firing  upon  Fort  Sumter;  the 
secession  of  the  southern  states;  Mr.  Lincoln's  call 
for  volunteers.  How  he  despised  himself  for  being 
such  a  small  boy  when  he  saw  his  brother  Harry 
in  his  blue  uniform  with  the  brass  buttons  I  He 
couldn't  understand  why  his  mother  had  cried  when 
Harry  went  away  to  be  a  soldier,  since  he  himself 
felt  cruelly  cheated  in  being  deprived  of  marching 
off  to  the  battle  field.  Nor  could  he  understand 


168  THE  NEW  LAND 

why  Rabbi  Adler's  voice  always  faltered  now  when 
he  read  the  Kaddish  prayer  for  the  mourners  every 
Sabbath  in  the  synagogue,  although  he  had  heard 
that  his  teacher's  young  son,  Dankmar,  serving  in 
the  artillery,  was  wounded  at  the  battle  of  Chick- 
amauga.  For  war  to  the  little  boy  meant  nothing 
but  lines  of  straight  soldiers  marching  to  music  with 
flying  banners  above  them,  and  even  when  bits  of 
crape  appeared,  so  it  seemed,  upon  the  doors  of 
every  other  home  in  the  city,  he  thought  only  of 
the  glory,  not  the  horror  of  it  all.  Nor  did  he  ever 
imagine  how  President  Lincoln's  great  heart  almost 
broke  in  those  days  over  the  suffering  not  only  of 
his  own  Northern  soldiers,  but  the  Southern  boys 
too,  whom  he  would  never  call  "rebels"  nor  cease 
to  regard  but  as  brother  Americans.  When  the  boy 
thought  of  the  president  at  all,  it  was  always  as  the 
captain  of  a  mighty  host,  pressing  fearlessly  on  to 
victory.  "Like  Joshua,"  he  thought,  remembering 
the  verses  on  the  flag,  resolving  that  when  victory 
did  come  at  last  he  would  celebrate  in  his  own  way, 
by  sending  Mr.  Lincoln  his  present. 

"We  can't  do  too  much  for  Mr.  Lincoln,"  his 
brother  Harry  had  said  when  he  came  home  on 
a  furlough,  so  tanned  and  sturdy  that  even  Mrs. 
Rosenfelt  had  to  confess  that  his  soldiering  had  not 
broken  down  his  health.  And  Morris's  heart  had 
reechoed  the  sentiment  again  and  again,  especially 
when  Harry  was  taken  to  one  of  the  Washington 
hospitals  and  wrote  glowingly  of  the  president's 
visits  to  the  sick  and  wounded  soldiers.  "He's  not 
like  a  president — he's  just  like  a  father,"  he  wrote, 


A  PRESENT  FOR  MR.  LINCOLN    169 

and  more  than  one  bereaved  household  in  those  dark 
days  learned  to  agree  with  him. 

For  the  sadly-tried  man  from  Illinois  was  never 
too  busy  with  affairs  of  state  to  write  a  word  of 
comfort  to  a  mother  who  had  lost  her  son  on  the 
battlefield,  never  too  harassed  with  his  many  duties 
to  listen  to  a  plea  for  a  furlough  or  a  pardon.  But, 
perhaps,  of  all  the  stories  that  reached  Morris  at 
that  time  the  account  of  Mr.  Abraham  Jonas  of 
Peoria  meant  the  most. 

Mr.  Jonas  was  a  Jewish  citizen  of  Peoria,  Illi 
nois,  and  had  been  a  staunch  friend  and  political 
associate  of  Lincoln  before  the  latter  left  Springfield 
for  the  White  House.  Strangely  enough,  Mr.  Jonas's 
four  sons  all  enlisted  in  the  Southern  army.  To 
wards  the  close  of  the  war,  Abraham  Jonas  fell 
ill,  and,  learning  from  his  doctors  that  his  disease 
would  prove  fatal,  felt  that  he  could  never  die  in 
peace  until  he  had  seen  his  son  Charles,  then  a  Con 
federate  prisoner  of  war  on  Johnson's  Island,  Lake 
Erie.  The  dying  father  appealed  to  his  old  friend, 
and  President  Lincoln  at  once  gave  the  order  to 
parole  Charles  Jonas  for  three  weeks  that  he  might 
visit  his  father's  bedside. 

"After  that,"  admitted  Mrs.  Rosenfelt,  wiping 
her  eyes  as  she  heard  the  story  from  a  Chicago 
friend  of  the  Jonas  family,  "after  that,  I'll  forgive 
the  president  everything!"  She  never  explained  just 
why  she  should  feel  called  upon  to  forgive  Presi 
dent  Lincoln  for  anything,  but  up  to  that  time  the 
good  lady  had  entertained  the  notion  that  the  presi 
dent  had  made  the  war  and  was  entirely  responsible 


170  THE  NEW  LAND 

for  her  son's  enlistment.  "Things  like  that  make 
you  feel  that  there's  good  in  everybody's  heart  even 
in  war  time.  Anyhow,  the  war  can't  last  much 
longer." 

The  great  war  did  end  that  very  year  and  in  the 
spring  of  1865  Morris  realized  that  at  last  he  might 
send  Mr.  Lincoln  his  present.  "Just  for  a  sort  of 
extra  celebration,"  he  told  himself,  as  he  counted 
the  money  he  had  so  painfully  hoarded  in  an  old 
wallet  during  the  four  years  of  waiting. 

It  was  not  a  large  sum  after  all,  for  Mr.  Rosen- 
felt  was  not  a  rich  man  and  his  business  interests 
had  suffered  during  the  war.  And,  it  must  be  con 
fessed,  several  times  Morris  had  yielded  to  tempta 
tion  and  had  broken  into  his  little  treasury  to  buy 
some  toy  or  pleasure  that  he  felt  he  just  must  have, 
intending  to  pay  himself  back  as  soon  as  he  could 
earn  the  money.  But  chores  were  few  and  brought 
little,  and  even  his  uncle's  barmitzvah  present  of  five 
dollars  failed  to  raise  the  sum  above  fifteen.  Still 
that  was  a  good  deal,  thought  Morris,  although  he 
couldn't  buy  a  gold  watch  with  it.  But  he  had  grown 
up  a  little  during  the  past  four  years  and  realized 
that  probably  Mr.  Lincoln  had  a  gold  watch,  any 
how.  And  so,  much  as  he  hated  to  do  it,  for  he 
wanted  the  secret  to  be  all  his  own,  he  decided  to 
ask  his  father's  advice  and  waited  impatiently  for 
him  to  come  in  from  the  porch,  where  he  stood 
talking  with  a  neighbor,  and  have  breakfast  the 
Saturday  morning  after  peace  was  declared. 

Although  he  was  only  a  boy  of  thirteen  at  the 
time,  Morris  never  forgot  how  the  parlor  looked 


A  PRESENT  FOR  MR.  LINCOLN          171 

that  day  with  the  flag  draped  over  Harry's  picture 
taken  in  uniform,  the  pale  sunshine  of  early  spring 
streaming  upon  the  bright  red  geranium  plant  on 
the  marble-topped  table.  There  was  a  large  tidy 
on  the  table,  a  doily  his  mother  had  crotched,  his 
mother  who  started  up  with  a  cry  of  alarm  as  Mr. 
Rosenfelt  entered,  his  face  white  with  terror. 

"Harry "  was  all  she  could  say  for  a  mo 
ment.  Then,  when  she  could  control  her  voice  a 
little:  "Has  anything  happened  to  our  Harry?" 

Her  husband  shook  his  head.  "No,"  he  answered 
in  a  matter-of-fact  tone  that  contrasted  strangely 
with  his  dreadful  pallor.  "Harry,  thank  God,  is 
safe  and  will  soon  be  on  his  way  home.  But  Presi 
dent  Lincoln " 

"Yes?"  cried  Mrs.  Rosenfelt,  "the  president?" 

"He  was  shot  last  evening  by  an  assassin.  He 
has  just  died,"  answered  her  husband,  and  he  spoke 
as  one  speaks  of  a  dear  friend. 

"It  can't  be  true,"  cried  Morris,  hotly.  "No  one 
would  hurt  him — he  was  so  good — we  all  loved  him 
so."  The  tears  ran  down  his  face  as  he  spoke  and 
for  once  he  was  not  ashamed  to  have  his  father  see 
him  cry.  Without  another  word  he  turned  and  ran 
upstairs  to  his  own  room.  The  little  blue  bank  still 
standing  upon  the  dresser  hurt  him  with  a  sudden 
memory.  He  was  comparatively  rich  now,  but  he 
hated  the  fifteen  dollars  he  had  saved  with  so  much 
eagerness  through  the  years  of  patient  waiting. 

The  money,  still  unspent,  lay  in  Morris's  wallet 
the  day  Mr.  Lincoln  came  home  to  Springfield.  The 
humble  rail  splitter  had  returned  to  his  home  town 


172  THE  NEW  LAND 

in  kingly  triumph.  As  his  funeral  train  crossed  the 
continent,  every  great  city,  every  tiny  village,  crape- 
hung  and  grief-stricken,  had  sent  its  citizens  to  do 
him  homage.  Even  the  farmers  from  the  scattered 
farms  along  the  way  lit  funeral  pyres  as  the  dark 
procession  thundered  past  through  the  night.  Now 
the  citizens  of  Chicago  stood  bowed  in  grief  as  the 
body  of  the  martyred  president  was  borne  through 
the  silent  streets.  Strong  men  wept  openly  and 
unashamed;  but  Morris,  standing  at  his  father's  side 
on  the  curbing,  did  not  cry.  Somehow,  it  all  seemed 
too  terrible  for  tears.  And,  because  he  was  just 
a  small  boy,  after  all  not  the  least  of  his  grief  was 
the  thought  that  now  it  was  too  late  to  send  Mr. 
Lincoln  his  present. 


THE  LAND  COLUMBUS  FOUND 

The  Story  of  the  Tablet  Placed  Upon  the 
Statue  of  Liberty  in  New  York  Harbor. 

This  isn't  a  story  at  all,  just  a  sort  of  "good 
bye"  word  to  the  boys  and  girls  who  have  read 
these  tales  of  Jewish  men  and  women  who  tried  to 
do  their  part  in  the  making  of  America.  Do  you 
remember  away  back  to  the  first  one,  the  story  of 
the  Jews  who  from  Columbus's  flag  ship  dreamed 
of  the  promised  land,  but  never  knew  that  the  con 
tinent  their  admiral  discovered  would  some  day  be 
a  place  of  refuge  for  their  race?  Now,  every  year, 
thousands  of  men  and  women  and  children,  a  great 
many  of  our  own  people  among  them,  seek  a  refuge 
here.  If  you  go  to  Ellis  Island,  you  may  see  them 
entering  this  New  World  where  they  hope  to  find 
home  and  happiness.  I  have  seen  them  with  their 
baskets  and  their  bundles  of  household  goods,  their 
little  children  in  their  arms,  (do  you  remember  how 
Reuben  wandered  through  the  storm  carrying  his  lit 
tle  son?),  crossing  the  gang  plank  of  the  steamer 
which  brings  them  to  the  island,  raising  their  tired 
eyes  in  mute  gratitude  to  the  American  flag  which 
floats  above  them  as  they  pass.  And  from  where 
I  stood  I  could  also  see  the  great  Statue  of  Liberty 
Enlightening  the  World,  the  woman  with  the  light 
in  her  hand  to  guide  the  weary  wanderers  across 
the  sea. 

173 


174  THE  NEW  LAND 

If  you  visit  this  statue,  boys  and  girls,  you  will 
see  at  the  base  a  bronze  tablet  with  a  short  poem 
engraved  upon  it.  The  poem  was  written  by  a  Jew 
ish  woman,  Emma  Lazarus,  our  first  and  greatest 
Jewish  American  poet.  As  a  girl  she  had  cared  lit 
tle  for  the  history  and  traditions  of  her  people;  her 
verses  were  about  the  gods  of  Greece  and  Rome  and 
the  legends  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Then,  when  the 
dreadful  persecution  of  our  people  in  Russia  in  1881 
drove  many  of  them  to  our  shores,  she  was  called 
upon  to  assist  in  caring  for  some  of  the  homeless 
wanderers  and,  like  a  loving  mother,  she  gathered 
them  to  her  heart. 

Something  new  and  beautiful  awoke  in  her  soul 
and  she  gave  her  strength  and  energy  in  caring  for 
these  exiles  of  her  own  blood.  When  she  wrote  now 
it  was  of  her  people.  She  read  our  long  and  won 
derful  history  and  immortalized  the  heroism  of  our 
martyrs  in  such  poems  as  her  tragedy,  "The  Dance 
to  Death."  She  wrote  shorter  verses,  too,  and  there 
are  few  Jewish  boys  and  girls  who  have  not  recited 
or  at  least  heard  her  stirring  Chanukkah  recita 
tions,  "The  Feast  of  Lights,"  and  "The  Banner  of 
the  Jew."  Her  poems  had  always  been  very  beau 
tiful,  winning  the  praises  of  such  a  high  critic  as 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson,  but  now  they  glowed  with 
a  new  beauty,  her  love  and  new  found  kinship  with 
her  race. 

It  was  her  passionate  love  for  America  and  her 
knowledge  of  all  that  our  country  means  to  the  Jew, 
both  the  native-born  and  the  persecuted  wanderer 
from  other  lands,  that  made  her  see  in  the  Statue 


THE  LAND  COLUMBUS  FOUND    175 

of  Liberty  more  than  a  mere  mass  of  sculptured 
stone.  Instead  she  saw  a  gracious,  loving  woman 
guarding  the  gates  of  the  New  World,  not  like  the 
ancient  giant  figure  striding  the  harbor  at  Rhodes, 
a  haughty  menace  to  the  nations,  but  a  symbol  of 
welcome  and  freedom  and  justice  to  all  mankind. 
So  she  wrote  her  verses,  to  be  inscribed  later  at  the 
statue's  base,  telling  as  only  a  great  poet  could  what 
America  means  to  her  children. 

Not  like  the  brazen  giant  of  Greek  fame, 
With  conquering  limbs  astride  from  land  to  land, 
Here  at  our  sea-washed,  sunset  gates  shall  stand 
A  mighty  woman  with  a  torch,  whose  flame 
Is  the  imprisoned  lightning,  and  her  name 
Mother  of  Exiles.    From  her  beacon-hand 
Glows  world-wide  welcome:  her  mild  eyes  command 
The  air-bridged  harbor  that  twin  cities  frame. 
"Keep,  ancient  lands,  your  storied  pomp!"  cries  she 
With  silent  lips.     "Give  me  your  tired,  your  poor, 
Your  huddled  masses  yearning  to  breathe  free, 
The  wretched  refuse  of  your  teeming  shore, 
Send  these,  the  homeless,  tempest-tost  to  me, 
I  lift  my  lamp  beside  the  golden  door!" 


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